Fade
by bkwrmnlvnit
Summary: For as long as she can remember, Riley has been mute and shy, living in a book. But when unseen circumstances throw her unceremoniously into the League's story, could she find that things change? And what happens when she discovers that, in her new reality, she's being woven tighter and tighter into their story and out of her own?
1. Silence

**Hello out there! So, this is just a random idea I had knocking around my noggin about the LXG and another character. I know there are a ****_ton_**** of these kinds of stories out there, but I'll try and keep mine somewhat unique. This will end up being a multichapter deal, and I'll make sure that I let you know if there's any cautionary content, like swearing, which I don't anticipate, in the chapter. I'll try not to write myself into a corner, update when I can, and I am eager to hear what everyone thinks, so please, read and review. I know this chapter is in our world and has next to nothing to do with the LXG, but I'm getting there in the next chapter. This one is also incredibly short. Please, don't think that this will become the norm with this story. Anyways, I'm not terribly sure what else to type here, so I guess I'll shut up and let you read. Enjoy!**

_Silence_

I look up from my math homework as I write down the answer to the final problem. Quietly, I pack up my supplies. The hushed air around me is comforting as I move about silently, like I always do.

Libraries. They are my home away from home, my own version of heaven. Here, silence is the expectation, and being quiet is the norm. For once, I'm not out of place. I can almost feel normal. That is, if I can avoid situations requiring interaction. If I can't, then my feeling of normalcy becomes about as existent as my ability to speak, and disintegrates like crumbling ash.

I can not remember having ever spoken in my life. Not once. Mom says I used to when I was young, but I don't recall doing anything of the sort. Add to that the fact that on a normal basis, it is _literally_ next to impossible for me to look people in the eye, and you have the grounds for a first class freak show, or at least that's what it feels like. Of course, I can speak, with my hands. I have enough signs to hold up any kind of conversation, but who would learn them? Besides, I get enough odd stares- why add to them by speaking with my hands? So I don't talk. I don't stare at anything but the ground. Above all, I don't interact with real people. I interact with books.

Silently, I sling my backpack on my shoulders and stand, pulling out my library card from my pocket and heading over to the new arrivals section. There's a book there, with shadowy looking characters on the front, most of them with their faces hidden. The only thing shown in clear detail are the letters _LXG._

Intrigued, I look at the cover, picking up the book gingerly and flipping it over to the back.

_London, 1899. As the British Empire lies in mortal jeopardy, a top-secret initiative unites several of the most illustrious (and sometimes infamous) personages of the age: Allan Quartermain, famed explorer and adventurer; Captain Nemo, master of the undersea submersible Nautilus; Dr. Henry Jekyll, and his brutish alter ego, Mr. Hyde; Rodney Skinner, the Invisible Man; Dorian Gray, the ageless subject of a diabolical portrait; Mina Harker, surviving victim of the late Count Dracula; and a scrappy American secret agent named Tom Sawyer. Together, they form..._

**_LXG_**

_When a criminal mastermind known only as "The Fantom" plots to hurl the world into war, the League must race across the globe to foil the masked madman's insidious scheme. But they may not have reckoned with the traitor in their midst...!_

_Interesting_… I think. The book isn't terribly long, and doesn't look like a bad read. I take it and hold it comfortably somehow on my arm and against my body before browsing the other selections. I find a few, check out the books, then go outside to the parking lot. Mom is waiting outside, and I clamber into the backseat of the car.

We are silent on the way home, save for a few comments from Mom about school, which is fine by me. I stare out the window in silence all the way.

Little happens in the evening. I go home. We eat. Normal happenings around the house. I turn on quiet music and begin to read the story called LXG. In an hour, when Mom forces me to go to bed, I'm captivated by the adventure, and fall asleep with thoughts of the League in my head.

The next day, things do not go as well.

Mom has received my term grades, and I am failing in many parts for class discussion. Of course, it's not like I even _can_ participate in discussions, but no one seems to care. So instead, I get poor marks.

But Mom can't see this as I do. All she sees is a child who used to talk and does no more, and a girl who refuses to listen to reason. An immature child is all I am, and she shows her thoughts clearly as she reproaches me. I do nothing but finger my wallet in my pocket and stare at the floorboards as we head to the library and she screams.

"You _insist_ on acting like you're two. I know you're not mute. I've heard you speak. You used to look at people. Why can't you look at me anymore?" she yells. I don't do anything, just keep continuing an epic stare-down with the floor.

"Why can't you _speak, _Riley? I'm sick of this game!" Mom screams. I flick my gaze up for a moment, peering through the windshield, then resume looking at my feet again, at anything but her. Even if I could, I don't think I would want to see the disappointment in her eyes. I raise my head slightly and keep my eyes averted.

"This is useless! This _charade _of yours is pointless! Stop acting like this and stop pretending! I know you can, Riley!" I can hear the anguish in Mom's voice, but I still do nothing. I can't. Even if she thinks I'm pretending, even if she doesn't trust me, it doesn't matter. With no voice, I can do nothing to change her opinion.

"_Look at me!_" Mom screams. Suddenly, there's a crunching sound and my head snaps up unwillingly. The world is spinning in a blur, and it's all happening too fast to do anything. I can see Mom as she frantically tries to turn the steering wheel, and I can see the green blur of trees. And then there's another crunching sound, right by my side. The windows shatter and something slams into my head.

That's all that I remember before the world goes black.

**Now you know what I mean about the length and the content of the chapter. Like said, don't worry too much about this being the norm- it won't be. Promise. Just read, review, and let me know how it is so far. Danke! (German for thank you, for those of you who don't know). Auf Wiedersehen!**


	2. Meetings

**Okay, just before I forget, I DO NOT OWN THE LXG! I wish I did, but I'm not quite that lucky. I keep forgetting to say that and don't want to end up with copyright problems and stuff. Anyways, this is the second chapter of the story (if you hadn't guessed) and I'm hoping to make future chapters be more interesting and out of my imagination than a novelization of the movie. Unfortunately, I'm not that lucky in this chapter. Bear with me, if you can. I really am trying here. So, Riley meets the league in this chapter. This is probably more the average length of the chapters (I think. Don't hold me to that). Oh, and apologies for the corny chapter titles. Titling things is not my forte. Not too much more to say here, so just, if you have time, read and review. (Is that what R & R stands for?) Enjoy!**

When I wake, it is, not surprisingly, in a library of some sort. There is a faint musty smell in the air, and my head throbs. I can't remember anything about how I fell asleep, or why I did so in a library, or where in the blazes I am because the library is certainly not my own. I wait for the amnesia to disintegrate a little bit, but it stays firm, and I mentally growl in frustration.

With some kind of unappealing grunt, I try and sit up. My limbs ache, from what I don't know. But the entire world seems hazy and strange, almost off somehow. I think it must be a result of my daze, though I can't be sure. For whatever reason, the world is spinning, and I lean against a bookshelf for a moment, waiting until the world stops rocking like the Tilt-A-Whirl I went on a few years ago. I find it strange, for a moment, that I can remember so clearly a date far in my past, down to what flavour of Ice Cream I was eating-strawberry, by the way- yet cannot remember the events leading to my evident passing out in a strange library.

Still dazed, I stand, hoping to find some kind of a way out of wherever it that I am when I hear a noise.

"I don't like theatrics." It's a gravelly voice, male, thickly accented, maybe British, though I can't be certain.

"After Africa's veldts, London's weather isn't helping your mood, I see," a second voice, much smoother, says. I listen in confusion. After all, it's what I'm best at. Listening, not talking. Blending in with the background.

"Identify yourself." The first voice again.

"I am known by many names, Mr. Quatermain. My underlings call me sir. My superiors call me M," the second replies mysteriously.

"M?" the first voice, Quatermain says in a tone of contemplation, as if he's testing out the word-or, letter, as it is.

"Just M," the second replies again. I decide he must be M. M and Quatermain. The names tug on the back of my mind somewhere, but I can't place it. I shake off the feeling.

"I must say, the delight is mine, meeting so notable a recruit to this newest generation of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen," M says smoothly. Again, I feel the tug of memories in the back of my mind, just barely out of reach. It bothers me, but as hard as I try, I can't place the memory. Obviously Quatermain is as confused as I am about M's comment.

"League of what?"

"There have been other times when a danger upon the world required the services of"- he pauses, seeming to pick his words carefully – "Singular individuals."

Quartermain sounds uninterested as he speaks, and I can hear a chair being pulled out, and a slight rustle of papers. "How very curious." I smile in spite of myself at the sarcasm in his voice, sarcasm that, by some miracle, M seems to miss.

"This museum is full of the curious." There's another sound, the light tread of boots, and I peer cautiously around the corner of the bookshelf I'm hiding behind just as a man appears, clad in a blue turban and outfit and looking extremely foreign.

"Allan Quatermain, Captain Nemo," M introduces, gesturing to the foreign man as he says 'Captain Nemo'.

"I have heard of Mr. Quatermain," Nemo says in a noncommittal tone. It betrays no hint of opinion towards if he feels the man in question is good or bad.

Quatermain obviously lacks the tact to follow suit. "And I've heard of you, Captain. Rumour has it you're a pirate." I cringe at his choice of words. Couldn't he phrase that _any _differently? Even though I don't speak, I know enough to say that you don't accuse someone of anything the first time you speak to them.

"I'd prefer a less provocative title," Nemo states evenly, though he looks just slightly tenser than before. If I wasn't so used to watching people, I might not notice.

"I'm sure you would." Quatermain is quickly losing my respect with each cutting remark.

Fortunately, M chooses this time to interrupt. "Gentlemen, please. Nations are striking at nations, every attack marked by the use of highly advanced weaponry. These attacks are all the work of one man who calls himself the Fantom."

Quatermain sounds far from amused as he stares at the files in front of him nonchalantly through the frames of reading glasses. "Very operatic. What's in it for him?"

"Profit. Those machines are his creations, the work of scientists he holds imprisoned. His attacks have nations clamoring for the weapons that assail them," M says in a matter of fact manner. It almost makes me wonder how he can be so sure about this 'Fantom's' motivations. I snap back into attention after a few seconds, having realized I zoned out for a few moments.

"There's one last chance to avert war. The leaders of Europe are to meet secretly in Venice," M says.

"And you think this Fantom," Quatermain says, pointing at a picture, "will attack that conference?"

"If he can find it. We need a team to stop him in Venice. This team consists of six members. You'll have four days." I raise an eyebrow. Why haven't I heard of these attacks? And why were these men wearing such strange clothes?

"Four days to get to Venice? It's impossible," Quatermain says disbelievingly. I am puzzled. Why is this so hard? Plane travel can get you there in less than two.

"Let me worry about that," Nemo says. It's the first words he's uttered in a while, and he has an almost challenging tone. I peer further around the bookcase, unable to help my curiosity. Quatermain huffs before returning to his papers.

"Well now. Extraordinary gentlemen, indeed."

"One of them is late," M says. "Harker, the chemist." Suddenly a voice from nowhere, with a strange accent that I can't quite name, pipes up, making me jump.

"Chemist, eh? Do we get to blow something up then?" I search for the source of the voice, but can find nothing. To put it simply, I'm confused, and obviously so is everyone else, except, of course, M.

Quatermain is the first to speak. "My eyesight must be worse than I thought," he mutters. The voice pipes up again as a pile of new files float up behind the man. "No, your eyesight's fine." The files slap down on the table beside him with a flourish, and Quatermain jumps, standing.

"No games, M," he says accusingly. M gets to his feet and holds up one finger, as if to ask for him to wait.

"Some time ago, a talented, albeit misguided man of science discovered the means to become invisible," M says.

"Yes, I recall the tale, but didn't he die?" Quatermain asks, perplexed.

"Well he did, but his process didn't." It's the same disembodied voice. "You see, I stole it, and here I stand for all to see." I smile at the irony of the comment.

"Is this some parlor game?" Quatermain seems suspicious, but the evidently invisible man seems to have gotten tired of it. Quatermain's shoulder shoves forward, just as the voice speaks again, an annoyed tone clear. "Believe it!"

Quatermain swings his arm back and there's a brief grunt as a lamp post starts to tip over. "Easy now, Allan. I'm feeling a bit of a draft in my nether regions, and I must say, it's quite refreshing." I can only watch in entertainment as a long, black coat lifts itself from a chair and animates, fitting around the form of someone who, it would seem, really is invisible. "Allow me to introduce myself," the coat says, arms held out in a friendly gesture- or it would be friendly, if you could see the hands. "Rodney Skinner, gentleman thief." A pair of invisible hands uncaps a silver tin and starts to apply some kind of white face-paint as Skinner keeps talking. "Now, I thought invisibility would be a boon to my work. Well, you can imagine, it was my undoing. Once you're invisible, it's bloody hard to turn back."

"We finally caught him," M interjects in an amused tone.

"And they'll provide an antidote. Well, that's if I'm a good boy," Skinner continues.

"And are you a good boy?"

"I guess you'll find out, won't you?" Skinner replies. Something about his comment just strikes me as unbelievably funny, and a small little laugh escapes me, then cuts off. Quatermain turns around sharply. "What was that?" he asks. The others shrug for a moment, but I can see the exact moment when Skinner spots me from my bookshelf. "Over there," he says, just as I try to run. It's about two minutes before I'm outsmarted by the group, and a pair of strong hands grab me and pull me back to where we were as I keep fighting, fear making me frantic. The grip just tightens. "Stop it!" I recognize the voice as Quatermain, and I cease, dread filling me with the knowledge that no amount of fighting will get me out of this mess. He finally lets go of me as we get back to the meeting, where everyone stares at me in confusion as I back towards the wall like a caged animal, falling over and crab-walking until I can go no further and hit the barrier.

At any other time, I would never have been caught watching people, much less because of laughing. I would be looking at the ground right now. Instead, I stare up in fear at the gentlemen gathered a few feet away.

Skinner sounds almost amused. "And I thought I was good at blending in. How long have you been standing there?" he asks. I shake my head in a gesture that I hope conveys that I have no idea. Which I don't. I'm not sure how long I've been in this library, or where it even is. As a matter of fact, I'm not terribly sure of anything.

"Who are you?" Quatermain asks. "A spy?" I shake my head vehemently, fear pounding in my chest. Oh, if only I could talk!

"How much have you heard?" he asks suspiciously. I shrug. "Not much of a talker, eh?" Quatermain asks again. I shake my head and look down at the ground. "Guess that means you wouldn't be much of a spy. Can't even tell what you heard."

M comes up at that moment. "Where did this piece of gutter trash come from?" he asks. I cringe, even though I've heard worse. "Dandy question. We're trying to figure that out ourselves, M," Skinner mutters.

"What are we going to do with her?" Quatermain asks.

"Put her back on the street where she belongs. Or lock her away until this whole business is taken care of. We can't risk her telling the enemy of the conference," M offers, an evil glint in his eye that terrifies me.

"No," Nemo says, speaking for the first time. "She is not a threat. She does not even speak, M. How could she betray us?"

"Well, if not that, what do we do with her? Don't feel right, leaving her here," Skinner adds.

"Bring her. She obviously has a talent for hiding, and seems to be intelligent enough. What will it hurt?" Nemo offers. I am shocked by his suggestion. Me, with a group of various odd people, trying to save the world from destruction? Not a likely combination. Besides, I'm not the save the world type. I can read books about it until the cows come home, but doing it myself? Not a chance.

"That is not a viable option, Captain," M says. "She is a liability."

"Or an asset, depending on how you look at it. Nemo's right," Skinner throws in. "Can't leave a little damsel in distress to fend for herself, can we?" I glare at Skinner, but through what facepaint he wears, I can see that he's smirking, and doesn't seem to care.

"A woman, on this journey? She's just a girl, and one who wears trousers at that." Quatermain does not seem to think highly of me, or of the female gender, and I transfer my glare to him. I may be mute, but I'm not deaf, and I'm certainly not of a weak disposition. I do believe I'll survive without being babysat. Besides, it is so old fashioned to think that women are incapable of doing the same things as men, nevertheless that they can't wear shorts. On top of that, you wouldn't believe how strange it is to have complete strangers deciding your fate while you're in the room with them, even though they discuss it as if you are not. Not that I'm not used to it.

"I vote she stays," Skinner says finally, after a short silence.

"As do I," Nemo agrees.

"Sorry, old chap. It would seem you're outvoted," Skinner teases, an invisible hand patting Quatermain on the back. M offers no comment, but I can see that he looks angry. I look away.

"Need a hand?" Skinner asks, offering his out to help me up. At least, I think he is. A coat sleeve is floating in front of my face. I nod, looking at the ground, and feel around for the proffered appendage, standing myself up. I give him a small smile as thank you.

"Got a name? Hate to have to come up with one for you," Skinner questions. I nod, going over to the table and writing the letters on the surface with my index finger.

"R-I-L-E-Y," he mumbles, reading over my shoulder. "Riley?" I nod again.

"That's a right funny name for a girl. All righty then, Riley. Welcome to the Gathering of Misfits," Skinner comments.

"League of Extraordinary Gentlemen," M says, sounding miffed and a little impatient. Skinner shrugs. "Gathering of Misfits is more accurate." I'm sure they're about to continue their arguing when the door opens again to reveal another guest to add to the Gathering of Misfits, as Skinner calls it. A woman, looking proper and as if she just stepped out of one of the books I read on the Victorian era, in some variation of mourning clothes, stands in the doorway, a black hat slightly askew on her head with the veil hanging over her face.

"Am I late?" she asks, her voice sounding just as polite as she looks. Everything about her is prim and proper and all that I'm not. She's pretty, I'll give her that. She's got this air of elegance to her that somehow makes her fierce and self sufficient, yet still seems to show her regal sophistication and grace. I envy her for a moment, letting my gaze rest on her for a second, but quickly flicking it to the floor when she looks at me. I incline my head towards M as he begins to speak again.

"A woman's prerogative, Mrs. Harker," he says in a grand tone. Quatermain looks far from pleased, annoyed at the prospect of having not one, but two woman on this little journey. "Please tell me that this is Harker's wife, with a sick note," he says in a tone that suggests he is in pain. The woman walks in, closing her umbrella and spares M from answering.

" 'Sick' would be a mild understatement. My husband's been dead for years," she says, a challenge in her tone. Obviously, she is no more pleased than I at the less than subtle reference about the worth of women. Perhaps sensing another possible argument, M steps in with a comment.

"Gentlemen, Mrs. Wilhelmina Harker," he says with a nod in her direction as he leans on a chair. "Mina's prior acquaintance with a reluctant league member may prove useful." I'm confused for a moment, and in my mind, I muddle with the thoughts as to what this may mean until a snide Quatermain interrupts my thoughts.

"I'm waiting to be impressed," he says. I close my eyes as I stare at the ground. This is going to be a long trip if this keeps up with Quatermain.

M acts as if he hasn't spoken. "The fate of the world is at stake. There are two more members to recruit. The clock hands turn, gentlemen," he says. He's about as subtle as a brick in his hinting to go and hurry off. His words are a merely a nice way of saying "get lost." Obviously I'm not the only one who notices. The invisible member of the group, Skinner speaks up.

"Kicking us out already? A moment ago it was sherry and giggles." His point made, he flips up his coat collar and stalks past me towards the door. I grin at the ground and follow after him. At least one of the league members has a sense of humour. That's better than none, even if the funny one is invisible and a thief. As I head after him, I keep smiling at his comment. For some reason, it gives me a sliver of hope, something I haven't had in ages.

Maybe this trip won't be so bad after all.

** So that's it for the chapter! Like I said, read and review and let me know what you think. I'll try and update soon (for anyone who is reading this). Oh and thank you to wild-springflower and FireheartNinja. Seeing the 'favorite' and 'follow' emails, respectively, made my day. Probably cheesy, but hey. I'm a cheesy kind of person. Nothing else to say now, so Auf Wiedersehen!**


	3. At the House of Dorian Gray

**Yeah! Here's the next chapter for the story, for those who are reading this. I'm trying to balance working on this with some of my other writing projects. If anyone was curious, I still don't own the LXG, and I doubt I will in the foreseeable future. In this chapter, Riley meets Dorian Grey, and figures out that she's in London, 1899. I think this one is less of a novelization, so I'm happy there. I'm also happy about the reviews and follows. Thank you to FireheartNinja again, RushMaiden and muse-in-waiting (I liked the German, thanks!) for the follows and reviews- they are much appreciated. Anyways, I should probably shut up now since I'm sure you don't want to read about me being cheesy and that and should just let you read the chapter. Enjoy!**

As I follow Skinner, the first thing I notice is the rain. It's pouring, and the day is cold, dreary, and grey. The weather doesn't do anything to help my sense of confusion. I'm not used to the rain, since where I live, it's almost never cold, or even chilly. It just makes me all the more annoyed that I can't remember anything for around a twenty-four hour period, by my estimations. It's like I was asleep the whole time, and it makes no sense.

"What in God's name is that?" I hear Quatermain ask, having apparently come out as well. With a cursory glance, I find that the rest of the league has left the building as well while I zoned out. I search for the object of Quatermain's inquiry, and get even more confused. In the street, there is a vague gathering of somber dressed people staring at a sophisticated looking car. It is only then I realize that it's the only car out there. The only other moving things are the people and some horse drawn carriages. _What is going on here_? I wonder. It's just not adding up.

"I call it an _automobile,_" Nemo says in a somewhat proud tone. I can tell he's pleased about the creation, and I'll admit, it does look kind of cool. It has six wheels, which I pretty much never see back home.

"Yeah, but what is it?" I hear Skinner ask in a curious tone. But Nemo doesn't answer his inquiry with anything but a mystic reply, saying only, "The future, gentlemen. The future."

We walk down the steps and I follow silently behind as Mrs. Harker leans the umbrella's protection over towards me a little more. I smile gratefully, and she nods.

"This is my first mate," Nemo introduces.

"Call me Ishmael," he says. I recognize the name from Moby Dick, which I read some time ago, and almost laugh, but manage to control it. The last thing I need to do is to get marooned wherever I am because I offended someone. I always walk on eggshells around new people anyways, and now, I have even more reason to do so.

"Miss, are you getting in?" I hear him ask. It's only then I realize that I've, yet again, zoned out, and everyone but a slightly annoyed looking Mrs. Harker and a confused Ishmael is inside the vehicle. I blush viciously and nod, ducking into the car, squashing in between Skinner and Mrs. Harker as she gets in.

"This is cozy. Nothing like being stuck tighter than peas in a pod," Skinner mutters, and I give a half grin. The car is silent, almost stuffy as we head off to wherever it is that we're going. Then the not so invisible man decides to break the ice. "So how did M get you?" he asks Quatermain. If I could speak, I would tell him not to waste his breath- the old grouch probably wouldn't tell anyway- and to my prediction, Quatermain doesn't. "None of your business," he huffs. I roll my eyes at my feet. What a grump. Unfortunately, there isn't too much I can do about it.

Luckily, Mrs. Harker doesn't seem to have the same restriction. "You're a bit testy, Mr. Q," she says. "Mrs. Harker, I doubt if you measure danger the way I do," he challenges. I look up just slightly, and see Mrs. Harker leaning forward to glare icily at Quatermain. "And I imagine you with quite the library, Mr. Quatermain. All those books you must have read merely by looking at their covers." I smile at the ground as she argues, finding it quietly entertaining.

"I've had women along on past exploits, and find them to be at best, a distraction," Quatermain fires back.

"Do I distract you?" Mina asks innocently. I try to bite back a laugh and instead end up grinning like an idiot. Quatermain gives me a pointed look that says quite clearly that he wants me to shut up and stop smiling. I ignore him.

"My dear girl, I've buried two wives, and many lovers, and I'm in no mood for more of either," Quatermain states. That kills the mood, at least until Skinner starts talking again,

"You can send them my way," Skinner suggests, only to be interrupted by an irritated Quatermain, telling him to shut up. I stop feeling sorry for the man. Just because he's had a bad day or twenty doesn't mean he has to make that true for everyone. Besides, it's not like he's the only one who has ever had a crappy time of it. Nemo probably has people like Quatermain calling him a pirate every time he's in civilization. Mina is a woman chemist, and she probably is shunned by society for being a woman who doesn't stay at home meekly and provide for her family. It can't be easy being invisible for Skinner. It would be so much easier to forget you're even real, when you look in the mirror and see nothing staring back. You would forget who you were. I've had my fair share of times like that, but I've gotten used to it and try not to dwell on it too much, since doing so will change nothing anyways.

No, Quatermain certainly isn't the only one who has bad days.

The car can't stay silent for too long though. It isn't long before Skinner is back to speaking again. "So, Riley. Why don't you like talking?" he asks. I shrug, then write two words on my leg with my finger. _I can't._ He raises his eyebrows and nods. "That explains it." He doesn't say anymore, nor does anyone else. It isn't long before I find myself falling into a quiet sleep, if only for a short while…

_I am young, only about 10 or so. Mom looks at me. "Hey, Riley. I know that this is…well it's six years today since it happened. I guess I should get used to the fact that you're not going to speak anymore but…if you need to talk, I'm here. I'm here," she says. I look up at her for a moment as she pats my hand, then flick my gaze back down, giving her the smallest of smiles to show I heard her. Then she stands and walks away, and it isn't long before I hear her fiddling around in the kitchen. I pick up my book, a classic, and head up the stairs._

_I look back down when I reach the top, and notice Mom's head peering around the corner of the kitchen. There's something in her eyes, something that looks like pain and wishes that things were different. I wonder if mine look the same way. I don't know, but there's nothing I can do to change it. It's too late to take back the past, and right now, I know it's too late to do anything about the future, for me at least. This is my life, and this is how it will always be. So I go into my room and turn on music and get lost into the story of Moby Dick._

_"Call me Ishmael…"_

"Riley, you alive in there?" I hear Skinner ask as he shakes me awake. I open my eyes and smile at him. He gives a half grin back. "Tell me, do you always sleep like the dead? Our Fantom friend could have attacked and not woken you up just now."

_Sorry, _I write. _It's been a weird day. _Skinner laughs lightly. "If you think this is strange, you'd better look out, because I'm sure that this isn't even the half of it." I smile. _I'll keep that in mind._

"Do," he says. "Now we'd best get out of Nemo's automobile before it starts rolling off with us still in it. We're off to pick up our next league member. I must say, if he's half as cheery as his house, we'll have the grim reaper on our side." My smile widens as I crawl out and stand, stretching for a moment. The rain seems to have stopped, which is good, except that it's still chilly. For a moment, I wish that I worn warmer clothes when I decided to pass out. The moment passes, and I hug myself as we head up towards where the rest of the league is gathered.

"This is a charming spot. Does Jack the Ripper live here?" There's amusement in Skinner's tone, and I smile again. Then I realize that he was just talking about Jack the Ripper. I had read my fair share of stories about the guy, and I was in no mood to meet the fellow any time soon. But why would Skinner ask such a question if Jack the Ripper was notable around 1888? It's over a century later, so why would he be alive?

_Wait a minute…_ I stop in my tracks. I search in my mind for the dress of the time period and realize that Mrs. Harker, Skinner, even Quatermain are all wearing clothes for around the late 1890's to the early 1900's. I check to make sure no one is watching, and even Skinner has his back turned for a moment. I jog across the street in search of some kind of news paper, and am rewarded in a few moments by finding what I'm looking for tossed in a bundle on the porch of an abandoned looking home. I swipe up the newspaper and the date and place immediately catch my eye.

_London. July 1899._ I drop the paper. I want to say it's impossible, but my gut tells me it's not, as does all logic. It all adds up- the dress, the less than wonderful weather, Skinner's mention of Jack the Ripper, the lack of technology… It would seem that, somehow, I've ended up back in London, 1899. But how? Why here? I shake my head.

As disorienting as it is, I'll have to worry about that later. Right now, Skinner is giving me a somewhat annoyed look from across the street. I jog back over to the house and give him an apologetic grin. "You should have seen it. You missed some kind of lovers reunion between Mina and some other fellow named Dorian Gray. Come on, maybe we can figure something out here between our motley gang of misfits." I nod and duck under his arm and into the doorway as Skinner follows.

The inside of the house is every bit as drab and dreary as the outside. The walls are a uniform grayish colour and stuffy looking portraits hang on them. The whole place screams _boring_ and I can't imagine living in it. Back home, the walls in my room are sunshine yellow with green edging, and I've painted the ceiling blue with butterflies and clouds, so at least my room seems cheery, even when I'm not. The colouring is monotonous and honestly makes me feel like getting a paintbrush and bringing some life into this place.

Apparently Skinner is having similar thoughts. "Charming décor," he mutters. I smile and he looks at me strangely. "For one who doesn't talk, you sure find a lot to smile about."

I shrug, my smile faltering at his reminder. I pause as we climb the staircase and tap Skinner, who turns to look at me, and then I write on the wall with my finger, _I have to smile. It's either that or cry for what I don't have._ Skinner raises his eyebrows again. "All righty then. And you're how old, now?" he asks. _Seventeen,_ I write. He nods. "Interesting," he says, and then we move up the stairs again, as I note on the way up that there's a spot on the wall where a portrait is missing.

As we head into the room after the league, my jaw drops. It's a _huge_ library, and it's like I'm a kid in a candy store. I grin and look at the books. Skinner notices and looks around conspiratorially. "Gray hasn't seen you," he says, and then he shoves me into one of the rows of shelves then walks up to the rest of the league, taking off his hat.

"Scotch, anyone?" he asks. I grin. He's clever, I'll give him that. The others are starting to talk about something or another as I start to peruse the books.

Mr. Gray has got quite a selection, all the classics. _Pride and Predjudice, Jane Eyre, A Tale of two Cities, Wuthering Heights, _some Mark Twain and Shakespeare. I recognize many of the titles, and I remember the plotlines, grinning softly at some, frowning sadly at others while the rest of the league talks.

"It was Grey visiting Eton, and I was the boy," I hear Quatermain say as I poke my head around the shelf corner, just in time to see him pull a gun from his pocket and look around tensely.

"What is it?" Mina asks. The words are out of her mouth for only the shortest amount of time when the gunmen in black start filling in through the second floor balcony windows, guns cocked and loaded, pointing right at the league. My eyes widen in shock.

"Gray?" Quatermain asks. It is only then that I notice the dark haired man with the arched eyebrows and the frilly Victorian clothes, the one I'd take to be Gray. I haven't met him yet, but if I'm any judge of character, which I usually am, he looks like he's got a serious superiority complex. "They are not mine," he sniffs.

"They're mine." My attention is drawn to the top of a spiraling staircase where a silver masked man with a cane is speaking with a hoarse, gravelly voice. I don't know who he is, but even from my hiding hole, I can see that the man has serious scars, maybe from burns. For once, I find myself happy in the slightest of ways that I can't speak. I wouldn't know what to say. Somehow, asking him how he is today doesn't seem appropriate.

For once, Quatermain's talking is useful. "First meetings usually warrant introductions," he says. The man on the stairs doesn't react in any particular way.

"Of course," he says. "I am the Fantom. You are the League of so-called 'Extraordinary Gentlemen.' Introductions made." My jaw drops, and I might gasp if I didn't stop myself fast enough. So this is the Fantom. He seems to be the world domination type to me. "Oh, and I'm scarred, Mr. Quatermain, not blind. Drop the gun," the Fantom says. Quatermain raises his eyebrows but does as he's told, which is shocking to say the least.

"Your mission is to stop me. That, of course, I cannot permit. So I give to you all a special, one-time invitation. Join me." I would love to say something about that. But it would appear that Nemo has me covered there.

"You think we'll help start a war that will consume the planet?" he asks, his voice charged with anger.

"While you profit from your arms race?" Quatermain adds. The Fantom starts down the stairs as he talks. "I cannot deny that fortunes are made at war," he says. As he's talking, I see a gun barrel poke out of one of the empty window openings. It's a blonde boy, but he isn't dressed like the other gunmen. _What the heck?_ I wonder. Something isn't right here. Of course, today I've seen more things that 'aren't right' than I care to see in a lifetime. I'm staring at the new gunman when I'm startled back into the present by the sound of the Fantom kicking Quatermain's gun across the room. I jump, and then I look back at the late arrival, just in time to see him swing his gun around with a grunt and fire it off into one of the Fantom's men. The man stumbles backward, and the room erupts into violence.

Nemo drags Mina behind a bookshelf and Quatermain slides a ladder around, knocking the gun barrels of the attackers up before he runs over to his own weapon, picking it up and wielding it against the gunmen. Pages from the books fly as the bullets rip through them, missing their targets. I have just seen Skinner as he runs toward the shelves, splashing his drink on his face and frantically trying to rub away his greasepaint before I paste myself to my own shelf. But I'm a sitting duck here. All it will take is one stray bullet and I'm toast. But I'm at just as big of a risk if I go into the open. Still, the way I see it, if I'm going to end up dead, I might as well go out trying to do something.

I pick up the nearest available form of a weapon-a huge, leather bound dictionary. Not ideal, but it's something. Then I run out into the eye of the storm.

Everything is hectic around me. I have no idea what is going on, but at first glance, I don't see Mina, but I see Quatermain firing away, along with the blonde man, and I can see Nemo engaged in fierce hand to hand combat with his sword. Looks like the League is fairly well trained for battle. Then I see a guy with a gun come up near me, and I run after him, knocking him upside the head with the book. He spins around, just in time for him to greet another swing with the dictionary. He's just disoriented enough for me to get in one last hit and knock him out cold.

I pause for a moment, shocked at my own audacity. It's not every day I knock someone out on purpose. I don't have all day to consider this though. I turn around to see another gunman running towards me, his finger on the trigger. Then he's interrupted by a flying book. "Hold on," the disembodied voice of Skinner says as he knocks at him with the book. "Night-night," he says cheerily as the man falls down, then I think he spins around to face me. "Who said words can't hurt?" he mutters. Then he points to book accusingly towards me as he continues. "You have a terrible knack for trying to get yourself killed or caught," he says, then shoves me back into the books.

I pause for a second to catch my breath, then come back out. "Dorian!" Mina screams, just as I turn to see the black haired man have an entire clip full of bullets emptied into him. I am shocked, and the book falls from my hands as Dorian stands tall, shuddering as he's filled full of holes. I can't even scream. And then he moves the gun barrel away, and unsheathes his sword from his cane again, cutting off the gunman's armor and stabbing him. As he falls, the man pulls on Dorian's shirt, ripping it. "What are you?" he rasps.

Dorian yanks the sword out of the man, causing him to fall backwards. "I'm complicated."

I paste myself back to the bookshelf. Dorian's immortal. I suppose that would be a useful asset. I have to hang back behind where I am for a while to collect myself before I finally creep out from where I'm hiding, just in time to see Skinner put his hat on as Dorian starts to come down the stairs in a fresh suit.

"And I thought I was special. You're invulnerable to harm," Skinner says.

"I don't like to boast," he says, and I roll my eyes. "What happened to Mina?" he asks. Quatermain emerges from somewhere else in the library, or what's left of it. "Oh, she's probably hip deep in some sort of trouble," he says casually. I really want to go up to him and smack him. I don't care what year it is, but I am getting seriously sick and tired of his 'woman are weaklings' mindset. It would appear that so has Mina.

She comes out from behind a book shelf, flicking her scarf back around her neck and stooping to pick up her hat. "Don't be such an alarmist, Mr. Q. And my hips are none of your business," she says sarcastically, just as one of the fallen gunmen stands and grabs her, holding a knife to her throat. My jaw drops, and I heave my book up threateningly. Quatermain gives me a look of exasperation, even though I already know it's not a particularly intimidating threat. Everyone is holding out a weapon of some kind towards the man, even the blonde guy from earlier, as he comes up, gun cocked.

"Shoot! Go on!" the man says tauntingly, his knife at Mina's throat still. Everyone lowers their weapon. "I guessed as much. That they'd do anything to protect you," he sneers.

Mina is unfazed. "See, now that's your biggest mistake. Thinking that I need them to protect me," she says, her grey blue eyes darkening to red as she turns around and tears into the gunman's throat. I look away in an instant as she feeds. _She's a vampire, _I think. _She is a real vampire._ Wonderful. When she's done, it would seem that Nemo is the only one who isn't too baffled to speak. "Extraordinary," he says, just as I turn back around.

"Boy," the blonde speaks. "They told me European women had funny ways," he says. "You missed a spot." Mina turns to look at him, and he touches a spot by his mouth.

"Excuse me," she says. "And you are?"

"Special Agent Sawyer, of the American Secret Service," he introduces.

"Then America is aware of the situation?" Quatermain asks. I want _so _badly to say something. No duh, America knows. If they didn't, why would they send an agent over here? Had a couple spares and decided to send them to London on a goose chase?

"If war starts in Europe, how long will it take until it crosses the Atlantic?" Sawyer asks. "I followed you. I knocked out a straggler, and I took his place."

"Very noble," Dorian sneers. "But this is a private party, and you're not invited," he says. "Nor are you," he says in my direction, having finally noticed my existence. I glare at him, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Skinner smiling.

"She's already with us," Mina states before returning to the matter at hand with Sawyer. "Actually, Dorian has declined. So we are one shy of a full deck," she points out.

"On the contrary," Dorian interjects. "The battle was just the spur I needed. That and the thrill of a friendship renewed," he says with a look towards Mina. I see what Skinner was talking about, and it makes me want to barf. I'm not much for the seductive romance genre, and it seems to me that Dorian is giving it a whirl. Blech.

"So you're not needed," he finishes. I feel bad for the American, just as Quatermain goes up towards him and takes his gun, aiming it at the balcony. "Winchester," he says.

"That's right. Modified, American style," Sawyer says.

"American style shooting too," Quatermain comments. Sawyer shrugs and chuckles a little.

"Well, whatever it takes. You like it? I brought two," he says. Quatermain looks at him contemplatively for a moment, and I smile softly to myself, even though I'm far from Quatermain's biggest fan and it took a lot more convincing for him to accept me joining the League. I shrug and let my smile get a little wider as he hands the gun back.

"You're in." he says.

**So there's the end of chapter three! Thanks again for the followers and reviewers of this story. I really appreciate it, and I'll try to get chapter four up soon. Anyways, please read and review, and I'll type at you later! Bis dann, Auf Wiedersehen! **


	4. Split Personalities

**Hi guys, it's me again. Guess what? I have big news- I still don't own the LXG! The only person I own is Riley. Now that that's out of the way, I just want to say that I am ****_so _****sorry for this taking so long- I have this huge project that I have to get done, and I'm still trying to do this one in a decent amount of time, so I apologize in advance. This is the chapter where Jekyll comes in, towards the end. This one was pretty fun to write just because it wasn't all novelization. Thank you again to the reviewers, FireheartNinja, RushMaiden, muse-in-waiting and the last one left 0. I really appreciate you taking the time to read and review this story. I'll shut up now and let you do so. Enjoy! CAUTION: ONE BRITISH CURSE WORD IN THIS CHAPTER!**

"Our little league keeps getting bigger and bigger," Skinner says, applying his facepaint then stopping for a moment to pat Sawyer on the back. "Welcome to the Gathering of Misfits," he says, the same words he'd said to me earlier today. Wait- _earlier today? _I think. I find it hard to believe that all of this has happened in just today. I've met an invisible man, a grouchy hunter, a vampyre, an immortal, an incredible sword fighter and man of science, and an American Secret Service Agent. The day wasn't even over yet. What would the next one bring?

"Thanks," I hear Sawyer say. "And you are?"

"Skinner. Rodney Skinner," he responds. "Quatermain is the old grouch with the gun, Mina is the woman with interesting habits, Nemo's the one in blue, Dorian's the young grouch with the cane-" Dorian gives Skinner an interesting look-" and Riley is the quiet one," Skinner says. I give a smile at his descriptions, though between Quatermain, Mina, and Dorian, I'm not sure which one looks like they're going to kill Skinner first. I start inching towards the door, and thankfully, Nemo gets the hint and follows me, then takes the lead. The others start filing out the door, and as they do, I can hear Sawyer thanking Skinner for the descriptions.

"So what's the next port of call?" he asks as we walk out the door.

"Paris," Nemo says. "Just one last member to recruit."

Quatermain scoffs. "Capture is more the word, and it will be quite a hunt."

Mina gives Quatermain a look, and I flick my gaze to the ground again, smiling. "You make him sound like some kind of animal," she says.

"Oh, and speaking thus, Mrs. Harker, your conduct a moment ago…?" There is a question in his words.

Beside me, Skinner pipes up with his own encouragement. "Indeed. We're all aquiver with curiosity," he says.

Mrs. Harker sighs. "Well… My husband was Jonathon Harker. With a professor named Van Helsing, we fought a dangerous evil. It had a name, Dracula. He was Transylvanian," she says. It would seem Skinner can't help himself with sarcastic comments.

"Mmm, European? One of those radicals the newpapers love to report on?" He asks. I give him an annoyed look, and then flick my gaze back to the ground.

"I don't know, Mr. Skinner," Mrs. Harker says, turning towards him as she pulls off one of her gloves, then pulling down her collar to reveal two puncture wounds on her neck. "Is the vampiric sucking of people's blood _radical behaviour_?"

Skinner looks uncomfortably at the ground, as does everyone else as Mrs. Harker fixes her collar. Then the water starts to bubble and Nemo smiles. "Our transportation is forthcoming," he says grandly.

Sawyer looks disbelieving. "A boat?" he asks, his tone betraying his shock. I'll admit, I was expecting something different out of the Gathering of Misfits. A boat seems almost normal.

"It travels on water, if that's what you mean," Nemo says, turning to face us. Then a sharp silver tip pierces the water. "And beneath it," Nemo finishes. I gape. Quatermain even looks amazed, and Sawyer does too. The ship keeps rising higher from the water, its bow covering up the sky and shimmering in the starlight like a sword.

"Behold, _Nautilus_, Sword of the Ocean," Nemo says, holding his arms up as the boat keeps rising. Eventually it stops rising and a doorway opens into the belly of the _Nautilus_, and I think it's pretty dang cool that this is happening, and I look awed until I notice Dorian and Nemo looking at me strangely and snap my attention back to the ground, trying to bite back a grin.

Nemo starts onto the walkway into the ship. "Next stop, Paris," he calls. The others file on after him, and I follow them, staring at the ground. I walk towards the lowered door until a hand grabs me from behind. I jump, then relax, realizing it's only Skinner.

"You might want to watch your step," he says. I look at my feet, then notice that I was about two inches from stepping off the pier. I blush furiously, then smile a thank you at him as there is a creaking sound and the door starts to rise. Skinner jumps, letting loose a mild swear word as he drags me after him onto the Nautilus, as the door starts to close behind us.

"That was a right close call," he mutters. I nod, still looking at the ground. "We might want to catch up to Nemo," he says. I nod again, then follow after him, watching the edge of his coat to keep up and know which turns he takes.

"Riley?" He says cautiously. I incline my head towards him. "A quick question. What do you find so interesting about the ground?" I shrug, then tap him and write on the walls of the Nautilus with my finger. _I don't know. _He looks at me strangely. "Then why do you stare at it all the time?" I shrug again. _What else am I supposed to stare at?_ I ask. Skinner chuckles, and I give him a curious look. "You might try looking up," he suggests. "I'm sure it's more interesting than the ground."

_I'll keep that in mind_, I write, looking up. Skinner nods. "Much better." I watch his hat bobbing up and down instead and follow him until we eventually catch up to where the rest of the League is gathered.

"Decide to take a little time sight-seeing?" Quatermain asks dryly.

"Not too much to sight-see. Unfortunately, London is pretty much the same thing repeated over and over again," he responds. Quatermain looks like he's about to reply to that when Nemo cuts him off.

"Very well," Nemo says evenly, perhaps wanting to prevent a fight. " Let bygones be bygones. The past is done."

Sawyer and Mrs. Harker nod agreement, as do I. "We shall be on Paris within the hour," Nemo says. "What are we doing when we arrive at our destination?"

"Well that's easy," Quatermain cuts in, leaning on his gun. "Sawyer and I are going to get Mr. Hyde, and you lot will stay here and get ready."

Mrs. Harker pauses for a moment before responding. "Are we incapable of helping, Mr. Q?"

"This hunt is much too dangerous for a woman, even one such as yourself. Besides, what of the resident mute?" He asks. I snap my head to his and glare. How dare he accuse me of being unable to take care of myself? Why does no one understand that just because I'm mute, I'm not deaf? I almost don't notice that, with the exception of Dorian, everyone is staring at Quatermain in some variation of disgust. Not that he notices. "Someone needs to set the trap, and prepare the boat for restraining him," Quatermain says. "Seeing how Sawyer and I are the only one with long range combat skills, we don't need Hyde being turned into a vampyre, and there are no books on hand for Riley to throw at him, it's a logical choice, Mrs. Harker." I glare at him, ticked that he is so flippant about his wording. I swear, the man has no tact at all.

"My name is Mina, Mr. Q., and contrary to belief, I can be useful, woman or not," she says icily.

"Oh yes, very useful, provided no one gets hurt and starts bleeding," Quatermain responds. Mina's eyes darken.

"I thought no one would be getting hurt, Mr. Q.. After all, you know so much about Mr. Hyde, you would never be injured," she fires back. Quatermain opens his mouth to respond when Nemo steps in.

"I'm afraid we don't have time to argue the point. Too many members will only hold back the hunt. Mr. Quatermain and Sawyer will go. We will stay here," he says. Mina calms, yet keeps glaring at Quatermain. I can't say that I blame her. However, he can always be dealt with later.

I tap Skinner on the shoulder, then step forward to write on the table. _So what are we doing?_ I ask. Skinner shrugs. "Good question. What _are_ we doing while _Mr._ Quatermain and Sawyer go hunting? If we're preparing for the arrival of a creature, we need to know what we're doing, don't you think? Besides, if this creature is so dangerous, how are you going to get him on the boat?" he asks. I grin.

"Nemo's men can prepare a net trap, and Saywer and I will lure him into it. I can launch a flare, and when you see that, spring the trap, and bring him onto the boat," Quatermain offers.

"That sounds almost too easy, Mr. Q., for such a _savage_ beast," Mina points out. "What does Mr. Sawyer have to say about it?" Sawyer jumps at the mention of his name.

"Nothing much. It sounds easy enough to do, provided it works, and I'd think it would go off without a hitch. Oh, and my name is Tom. Tom Sawyer," he says. Mina nods slightly. Then Skinner speaks up.

"What are we doing with this charming character when we get him? Planning on keeping him in the cargo hold until Venice?" Skinner asks. Quatermain glares at him, but I chuckle, hiding my grin behind my hand, not daring to start full out laughing.

"I suppose we can figure that out later. But were I you-" Quatermain begins.

"Which, thankfully, you're not," Skinner mutters, interrupting.

Quatermain glares at him, picking up his gun and slinging it on his shoulder. "Were I you, I'd get some chains ready somewhere. Hyde's certain to be in a foul mood," he says, and then he exits the room, headed off to where we came in at probably. After a moment's hesitation, Sawyer follows. I glower at the door frame Quatermain left through. What a colossal grouch.

"Well," Dorian says, speaking finally. "This is all well and exciting, but I think I'll retire to my room." Nemo nods.

"That is fine. I will have one of my men show you to your quarters," Nemo says, then he beckons to one of the men in the room, giving him a command. The man bows, then heads out one of the doors, gesturing us after him.

We follow without hesitation. The man leads us through the _Nautilus,_ through several corridors and corners, such a maze of them that I have no idea how I'll find my way back to the conference room the next day. We depart one by one, first Dorian, then Mina, then me. Before I go into the room, I tap the man on the shoulder and write on the wall with my finger. _Thank you and good night, _I write. The man nods, and then I tap Skinner's floating coat on the shoulder lightly. _Good night. See you tomorrow, _I write. Skinner nods. "I'm sure you will, more or less. Somewhat hard to see an invisible man. Nevertheless, until then," Skinner nods. I give him the smallest of smiles, then give a little awkward bow to Nemo's crewmember before heading into the room and closing the door quietly behind me.

There is a decently bright light in the room, once I find the lamp. I sigh, sitting lightly on my bed. For the second time, I find I can't believe that everything that has happened since I woke up in that library has happened in less than a day. I've woken up in a library in 1899 London, been recruited to save the world, met a ton of people that I didn't even know existed, nearly gotten killed, nearly walked off a pier, knocked someone out with a book, and gone on a submarine ride while two of the league members head off to hunt a monster. What would tomorrow bring?

I know the next day could be potentially dangerous, but for some reason, I embrace the uncertainty of it, the danger that it harbours. I, who usually hang around quietly in the background and live on the safe side of the fence, am excited for the adventure of it all. I don't have much time to consider anything else when the darkness takes over, and I fall into a deep sleep.

_Darkness, black and inky surrounds me. It covers me, wraps me up like a warm blanket. I feel as if I'm floating, somewhere beyond time and space and life, just existing, doing nothing but that. And then, through the darkness, I hear mom's voice. She's reading._

_" As Thames fog rolled in, the building seemed to groan with menace and the weight of years of unforgiven sins. Mina looked far from happy. 'That is where we will find Mr. Dorian Grey.'"_

_"That's the end of the chapter Riley. That book you were reading, that's the end of the chapter where you left off. It's a pretty strange book, don't you think?" she asks. In the darkness, I make no response. I hear Mom sniff. "I bet you'd love to read it yourself, wouldn't you? I wish you would." There are tears in Mom's voice. I want to reach out and hug her, but my limbs won't work. I'm stuck in this limbo of in between, and can do nothing. _

_"You know, I can't believe I didn't see that coming, with that idiot who ran the light and side-swiped us. I wish I could have gotten control _before_ we hit the telephone pole," she says, in attempt to be light, but not being successful. I can hear her biting back the tears and sniffling._

_"I don't know if you can hear this, Riley, but I'm still here, waiting. And I'll keep reading this to you, every day until you come home. I promise." There's silence again, then the soft rustle of pages._

_"Chapter eight…" Mom begins. Then the sound of a periodic beep and I.V. dripping fills the air and drowns out her voice again, leaving me alone in the darkness once more._

_I flash back to when I'm ten again. This time, I have a different selection of books. I decided to go for classics this time, and heave a bag filled with them into the house. _Dracula, The Invisible Man, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, The Picture of Dorian Grey,_ even _Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ had found their way into my bag._ _They were all the classics I'd heard were good, and were entertaining. I guess I decided it would be my turn to critique the books myself as I drag them up the steps. I quietly pull them into my room and close my eyes, picking one at random. Then, in silence, I begin to read again. The words are all that I have left. When I get lost in stories, I find that there, at least, I have a voice, if only in my mind…_

I wake with a gasp. There's that faint feeling that you always have when you wake up from a dream, of vague memories that you can grasp, yet are so hazy, you're not sure what they are. They're almost insubstantial, and annoyingly so. My dreams are hazy, that's certain. Still… I remember enough.

All of those I've met today are from classic books…published before 1899. At least those I know of. For some reason, I can't think of where Quatermain comes from or Skinner…I wonder- did he steal the formula from Griffin right before his death due to all the Reign of Terror nonsense? Then I remember, somewhat, the other part of my dream.

_I wish I could have gotten control of the car _before _we hit the telephone pole…_ Flashes of memory come back to me. Driving, the flash of trees, a sudden pain erupting. That's all I can recall. I shake my head of the fog flooding it. Now's not the time for day dreaming.

I'm about to try and figure out what to do next when my chain of thought is erupted by a howling sound that makes me jump. _What was that?_ I wonder. The howling continues, and the boat tremors. I have no idea what's going on, and that same concerning thirst for knowledge to the point of danger fills me. Even as the sane version of me screams to stay put, maybe run for cover and hide under the bed for good measure, the real me ignores it with a grin. I feel the uncertainty and it tastes good. It tastes like freedom.

I silently head out the door, shoes still on, following the sound of the howls. I get lost several times and keep ending up back where I started, yet eventually, I almost run into Skinner- literally- but duck behind a corner just in time. I decide to follow the not-so-invisible man. He's bound to have more of a sense of direction than I do- my abilities with maps and cardinal directions have always been far from praise-worthy.

"Hello, Dorian," he says, walking into a little T- shaped hallway. I'm appalled that he could think I was the stuck up immortal when I peer around Skinner and see the real Dorian coming. "The great white hunter's bagged his prize," Skinner says, sounding amused. A man goes flying out of the room, and I almost gasp. Now would be a great time for me to turn back, since no one's noticed me. Dorian stares in disdain at the moaning man. "Or the prize bagged him."

Skinner and Dorian walk into the room, and, like the idiot that I am, I follow them.

A beast, huge and muscled, with meaty hands stands in the center of the room, flinging men around like dolls. _Is this…Hyde? _ I wonder. If so, this is pretty much how I pictured the guy, but he's still terrifying. Somehow inhuman. Quatermain stands a safe distance away from the creature. "Stay back, if you value your life," he warns. I do as told, and so does everyone else. Another man goes flying by and Skinner falls. I'm shocked when Dorian, of all people, offers him a hand up. As Skinner stands, I see him grimace for a moment, then stare at his hand, pausing to look at Dorian. "You scratched me," he says accusingly.

Dorian looks entertained. "Better me than him," he points out. _True enough,_ I can't help but thinking, agreeing for once with the haughty immortal. "Well, this is nice," he states sarcastically. I give him a look. 'Nice' is not the word I would use.

Quatermain ignores Dorian. "Mr. Hyde," he says. "You've done terrible things in England. So terrible, you fled the country," I give Quatermain a look. Looks like his tact still hasn't improved. "Now, I'm ashamed to say that Her Majesty's government is willing to offer you amnesty, in return for your services. Do you want to go home?" Quatermain asks.

"Home," the creature says. "'Home is where the heart is,' that's what they say, and I have been missing London so. Its sorrow is as sweet to me as a rare wine." I look at the beast of Mr. Hyde cautiously. I'm not sure if this last comment is exactly a good thing or not. "I'm yours," Hyde says. Mina looks horrified, and gives a small squeak or mumble or something. Then Hyde looks at Sawyer, turning. "Don't be afraid."

Sawyer is cocky, leaning on his gun. Hyde is a huge monster. Not a good combination. "Who says I'm afraid?" Anger radiates from Hyde, and I don't even see it coming when he turns around. "You do!" he screams, dislocating a chain from the wall and sending it slinging. Everyone is quick enough to duck, even Sawyer. One of the benefits of being Extraordinary Gentlemen, I suppose. However, 'everyone' doesn't include me. My reflexes always have been slow, and they're not any faster today, when the flying chain hits me hard in the head, sending me flying against a wall and into blackness.

I awake with a pounding headache. "Didn't I tell you we should have left her at the bloody museum?" I hear the voice of Quatermain saying.

"Alan, could you maybe shut up for a moment?" I hear Skinner ask.

"Indeed, Mr. Q. I'm sure your commentary can wait," Mina agrees. My eyes flutter open, and the figures of the League fade and bleed together, along with a red head with a concerned look on his face, in a stuffy suit, a face I don't recognize. I blink, shaking my head slightly.

"You're awake," Mina says. I nod, grimacing. God, does my head hurt.

"Is your head alright, Miss Riley?" the strange man says. I nod a little, then write on my leg with my finger. _Just hurts a little._ "That's to be expected. I can clean the wound, if you'd like, before we retire, if Nemo will allow," he says. I nod again, confused. Who is this guy?

The man notices my confusion as I stand shakily to my feet. "I'm sorry," he says. "You don't know who I am, do you? Dr. Henry Jekyll, at your service."

_Henry Jekyll…_ Oh boy.

**So there you have it! There's chapter four, and again, I apologize so much for how long this is taking. Please, if you can, read and review, let me know what you think. Oh, and since we're talking about story books and Ishmael, just as a random comment- Happy 161****st**** birthday, Moby Dick! Anywho, I hope you enjoyed the story, and I'll try my best to get the next chapter up faster. Bis dann, Auf Wiedersehen.**

**Bookworm**


	5. Fighting Lessons

**Yeah! This chapter didn't take a week to post! Oh, and just as a news flash, nothings changed but what it stays the same- I still don't own the LXG, sadly enough. This chapter was pretty fun to write, and there's a lot of interaction between Riley and Skinner here. Just in case anyone was wondering, by the way, the reason Skinner is missing his trademark accent is because I am terrible at writing accents. Every time I try, I end up with some mutated form of words that I can't read myself, much less anyone else, hence why I decided to give up the ghost. Thank you so much to the reviewers of this story- RushMaiden, the last one left 0, muse-in-waiting, and FireheartNinja. Special thanks also to Bookworm Gal- your advice was really helpful to me, and I appreciate the ideas and enjoyed our conversation. You guys are awesome! Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy the story. If you get a chance, please, by all means, read and review. WARNING: This chapter possesses what some may refer to as graphic content. You're the judge. Enjoy!**

I try not to stare as I attempt to reconcile the image of the monstrous Hyde with the proper and somewhat stuffy looking doctor before me. I try not to let it show, and nod slightly, ignoring the fact that doing so makes it feel like there are about a billion tiny gnomes pounding on the inside of my skull with a hammer. Ugh…_Note to self- next time you see a chain flying towards you, duck_, I think. I would introduce myself, but it would seem Skinner has me covered.

"That's Riley," he says. I nod again, going over to the wall. _Nice to meet you_, I write. Jekyll looks at me strangely. "I suppose you're not calculating the fact I knocked you unconscious in that statement, are you?" he asks. _Nope._

There's a brief, awkward silence. "So," Quatermain cuts in suddenly. "The league is set." Finally. There's a quiet sound that for some reason reminds me of a cash register at home for a second. "And so is the date of the conference," Nemo comments. "We have three days."

Back home, this wouldn't faze me in the slightest. Now, however, is a different story. The fate of the world is at stake, and while I don't doubt Nemo's scientific abilities, it seems like a stretch to me that any boat, even the _Nautilus_ can make it from London to Venice in three days or less.

Apparently, Sawyer has the same doubt. "Three days? Can this canoe do that?" he questions. I would laugh if my head didn't hurt. As unbelievable as it is that we might make it to Venice in less than three days, I wouldn't be calling Nemo's boat a canoe. Nemo doesn't seem offended, just proud.

"You underestimate, the Nautilus, sir," he comments ominously. "You underestimate her greatly."

Sawyer looks a little freaked out. Skinner, however, doesn't seem to have the same problem with a lack of words. "Well, that's interesting," he says. "Never been known to be scared of a boat before, but that don't sound cheery." I smile to myself. Skinner pretty much summed it up. Suddenly, Mina yawns viciously, covering her mouth with her hand. "Excuse me," she murmurs. "It's been an exciting day."

"Indeed it has," Nemo says. "It is probably best for us all to get some rest. Ishmael, if you would, could you please show Mr. Quatermain and Mr. Sawyer to their rooms?" he requests, turning to his first mate, who I hadn't even noticed was in the room. Ishmael nods. "Sure, Captain," he says. "What about Dr. Jekyll?" he questions. Nemo gives a noncommittal gesture. "I believe he was going to do something with Miss Riley's wound, and then I can show him to his quarters. I trust his belongings are already there," Nemo replies, a question in his tone.

"They are," Ishmael says "All right then. Mr. Quatermain, Mr. Sawyer, if you could come with me?" he requests, gesturing towards the door. They leave, taking their guns, though Sawyer casts a concerned glance back at Jekyll as he goes. I can't say as though I blame him. The Doctor seems nice enough, but his split personality disorder is more than a little concerning.

"If you wouldn't consider it rude, I might retire to my room as well, Captain Nemo, if you'll allow," Mina declares cautiously.

"You are all free to leave if you'd like," he agrees. Mina, and Dorian leave, followed by Skinner as he shoots a look back over his shoulder, at what I don't know. I'm standing there for a moment, spacing out when Jekyll speaks.

"Um, Miss Riley?" he asks. I jump, then turn to face him. "Are we cleaning that wound?" I blush furiously and nod. _I have got to stop zoning out all the time_, I think as Nemo shows us the way to the infirmary then tells Jekyll to find him when he is finished.

I sit there quietly, engaged in a thumb war with myself while Jekyll gets some rubbing alcohol and bandages ready. My head still hurts when Jekyll is finally prepared. "Miss Riley?" he says questioningly. I look up to see him holding a cloth soaked in alcohol. I nod. "This might hurt a little," he cautions. I shrug, and he starts to carefully clean the wound.

The alcohol burns, and I hiss. Wasn't quite expecting it to hurt like that. Jekyll cringes. "Sorry," he apologizes, ceasing for a moment. _Don't apologize, _I write on my leg. He nods. "I'm afraid Hyde can be a little impulsive at times." I shrug. _We all can._ I write. He nods again, then resumes cleaning the wound. It isn't too long before he finishes, wrapping the wound tightly with a bandage.

"It isn't too terrible," he explains, "so you can probably take off the bandage in the morning." I nod. "I really am sorry about Hyde," Jekyll apologizes again. I shake my head. _Don't worry about it. I'm still alive to tell the tale._

"Why do you write out your words?" he asks suddenly. I shrug. _I can't say them. _Jekyll reads my words, then turns red and looks at the ground, muttering apologies. I smile, and give a little laugh, then laugh a little more when he looks up, shocked. _You're not the first one to ask that, and there's a good chance you won't be the last. It doesn't bother me. _

" If you say so," he murmurs in disbelief. I laugh, climbing down from the infirmary table. _I'll see you tomorrow, Doctor Jekyll. Good night,_ I write. "Good night," he says, then I walk from the room. I retrace my steps back to the conference room, then to my own room. Once I get in, I can think of nothing but sleep, and in an instant, I'm wrapped up in the darkness it provides.

_Our car is driving down a busy street, through the green, and I watch it roll past. It occurs to me that there's something wrong with the fact I'm watching myself from a different point of view as I follow the car. _

_"_Look at me!" _Mom screams. Then there is a crunching sound as another car connects with the side of our own in a T-Bone, and my head snaps up inside the car as I keep watching. What is going on? More importantly, why am I looking at myself from the outside? It's just plain creepy. But what's worse is the look of fear on both my face and Mom's as she struggles to get control of the car, screaming as the car spins around like an out of control carousel and the front end slams into a telephone pole. The windows explode into a lethal rain of knife-like shards, falling all over me and a piece of the glass from heaven knows what slices across me, and the telephone pole leans over precariously with the force of the hit._

_"Riley?" I hear Mom mumble. "Riley!" she screams. I finally force myself to look in the passenger seat of the car, at my body. My face is red, filled with little pieces of glass, and there is a huge gash in my forehead. The right side of my body is all awkward shapes and angles, like a mutated patchwork. I stare, transfixed at my mangled form, sickened to see it but unable to look away. Then people start coming, and the image fades into nothingness… _

_I'm back in the limbo of time in space, in the inky black where I am floating and can't move._

_"Do you think she's still got some injuries?" Mom's voice._

_"I don't know. For some reason, for a moment, her vitals just dropped, and then two minutes later, they were back to normal again. The scans haven't shown anything. There's no explanation for it." The voice of someone who I don't recognize fills the emptiness following Mom's question. He sounds perplexed._

_"I just don't get it," Mom says. "I don't know why she would be okay in a sense, have a sudden moment of decrease, and then be back to normal again." _

_"We don't either," the new voice says. "We'll run some tests, try to figure this out." There's something reassuring in your voice. "Your daughter will be alright," it claims._

_"I hope so."_

_I was about ten again, reading once more, a new book called _The Healing Spell._ "'If you ask me, there ain't no way a man with a sixth-grade education can take care of someone with a coma.' There was that word again. I plugged my ears, wishing Mrs. Guidry would stop saying it. Mamma _looked _like she was dead, but she wasn't really dead. More like stuck somewhere between waking and dying. As if her body didn't know which direction in the road to choose."_

Coma…_It was a new word, a word I had never found before. I always liked new words, but I found so few of them. Putting the book down, I carefully sneaked over to my Mom's office, where she always had a dictionary on the top of her bookshelf. Carefully, I started to climb the shelves, biting my tongue and trying to get to the top. I had done it before, and still hadn't got caught. I pulled down the dictionary and opened it, flipping it to the com- section, then finding coma. _Coma- A deep, prolonged unconsciousness, _the dictionary said. _Unconsciousness _was sleep, that I knew. _

_"Riley?" I heard Mom call. I gasped, then snapped the book shut and climbed back up the shelf to stick it where it was. Then I carefully left the office, popping out from the corner above the stairwell. _

_"There you are, Riley. I thought you were asleep…"_

I wake up before the sun, yawning silently as I blink away the sleep. I move quietly about, taking a quick bath and realizing only afterwards that I forgot to think about what I'm wearing after getting out. Cursing mentally, I wrap a towel around myself and head over to search the dresser drawers, in hopes of finding some sort of garment. I luck out, finding some sort of sailor's garment in the last drawer. Even though it is far from my usual wear, it's something, and I dress quickly. I go about my morning routine, removing the bandage from last night while my hair dries, then brushing my teeth with some weird seaweed tasting paste. As I walk about, I fix the bed with a practiced precision and go into the bathroom to brush my hair

Looking in the mirror, I notice the huge scrape running from about an inch over my right eye down to my mid cheek-bone. The angry red of the slash conflicts with the luminescent green of my eyes, and somehow makes my usually pale and lightly freckled face seem even whiter. I stare at my reflection, lightly touching the mark. It looks awful. Thankfully, no one seems to look at me on most days, so I turn away, starting to brush my hair and shaking my head. As I'm about to leave, I look up at the mirror again, locking eyes with my reflection, and snatches of memory from last night's dream start to come back, causing me to freeze.

The accident. My broken form in the passenger seat. I remember it now.

I remember.

Flashes of the rest of the dream come back to me, reading and listening to Mom speak. The definition of coma. _A deep, prolonged unconsciousness…_

What is my mind trying to tell me?

I'm not entirely sure why I ask when I already know the answer. I wanted to know why I ended up in the League's story. My mind is giving me the reason. Could it even be possible? My conscience screams no, but logic overrules it. As much as I don't want it to be true, it must be.

I am in a coma, and my parents are waiting for me to wake up.

Suddenly, the room seems too small. I hurry out of it, walking about aimlessly when I catch a hint of salty air and a slight breeze. I follow the scent to a slightly open door, heading up a flight of metal stairs silently to emerge on some sort of deck on the _Nautilus_. The sun is just starting to peek its head above the ocean, looking like a molten ball of lava and dyeing the waves amazing shades of pink, orange, green and purple. It's the kind of scene I used to imagine and draw all the time. I notice the outline of Captain Nemo, standing at the railing, and I pause. He's out here alone, and he probably likes it that way. I'm about to go back down when he speaks. "You do not have to leave, if you would wish to stay, Miss Riley," Nemo says. I turn back around, confused on how he knew I was there, walking out to join him by the railing.

It's beautiful, to say the least. The fresh sea air tastes good in my lungs, and the silence is nice for thinking. I turn my face to the wind as the _Nautilus_ cuts through the sea. It feels like freedom, rushing against my face, giving me time to think.

Somewhere, in a land far away from here called reality, a girl who shares my body is in a coma. Her parents wait for her to wake up, and at night, she shares my thoughts, when we are both asleep and thus united. It is the one time where we call ourselves the same person, consider ourselves as one. Somewhere, in this far off place, with this shell of a girl, there is silence and memories and a room full of books waiting for her at home. And in a land, much closer, becoming much more real with every second, is the real me, standing at the bow of the Sword of the Ocean and letting the ocean mist spray her face as the sun sets the sea on fire.

"It is pretty, is it not?" I hear Nemo ask. I nod, smiling. "Is your scrape alright?" he questions. I nod again. _It's fine,_ I write. Then I lean out over the railing again, taking in a deep breath of air. This moment is serene and perfect, and I never want it to end. I hear the soft sound of a door shutting, then look behind me to see the Captain gone. I wonder why he left, and then I get this crazy idea. No one is watching, so it is safe to let go.

I climb up on the railings, feet on the top rung, standing, arms outstretched. The wind teases me for a moment, trying to knock me down, and then I catch my balance. I set my face to the wind, smiling, like I'm some kind of a hood ornament for the boat. Standing there, soaring in my own mind, I laugh uncontrollably as the wind whips my bright copper hair around my face. The last time I remember feeling like this was ages ago, with my head out the window on the way up Pike's Peak on a family road-trip.

Some might call me crazy, for standing on top of a ship's railing as it goes very quickly through very deep water, especially since I'm not exactly coordinated. Some might call me strange. But in that moment, I don't feel crazy, or different, or strange. For perhaps the first time in my life, I feel free.

The moment ends after a time, and I force myself to come back to reality, heading down to the kitchen as the rest of the League wakes and makes their way into the dining hall for food. "What are you doing up at this ungodly hour?" Quatermain mutters, grabbing an apple from a basket as he passes by me. I shrug, then start to write a response on the table, but the second I pause, he makes an offhand comment and leaves. Annoying grouch. Sawyer is a little more understanding as he picks a fruit at random, then starts munching on it. "Nice outfit," he says, gesturing at the sailor's clothes. _Thanks,_ I write, rolling my eyes. _I was wondering, actually, if I could borrow some of your clothes, if you have any to spare? _Sawyer looks at me like I have eight eyes. "Run that by me one more time?" he requests, and I repeat the message. "Sorry, I have trouble reading people's handwriting sometimes. If you want, I'm sure you can have some of my clothes- I have some to spare. But they're not exactly proper for a woman., and they might be too big…" his voice fades out.

_Do I _look _like a proper woman to you? _I write. Sawyer laughs. "How to answer that one?" he muses. I shrug, smiling. "Come on, let's go and we'll grab you some spare clothing," Sawyer offers, calling over his shoulder as he heads off. I grin and follow him.

A half hour later, I've got some slightly large clothes from Sawyer and am back in my room changing into some of them. Once that's done, I head back out into the _Nautilus_ to try and see if I can find some sort of library- on a boat like this one, anything less would shock me, especially considering Nemo's character. I'm not far from the door when I run into Skinner-literally.

"There you are," he says, a gloved hand reaching into his long black coat. "Nemo let me have this so you can write in it. No offense to you, but when you say long phrases, it becomes a might bit hard to understand you," Skinner explains, handing me a book. I open it, finding the pages blank. It's some sort of journal, and there's a little fountain pen on the side of it, laying neatly in the book. I take the pen. _Thank you,_ I write, hugging Skinner. He seems shocked for a moment, then awkwardly hugs me back.

"You're welcome," he says. I close the journal and smile, following him to the dining room.

"So what are you doing today?" he asks. "Going to explore Nemo's canoe, as Tom called it?"

_No, _I write. _I don't really know what I'm doing. Do you?_

"No, but I have an idea if you're not doing anything else. Riley, you need to learn to defend yourself," he says.

_I did alright in the library, _I write.

Skinner chuckles. "In the library, yes. A book is a fine defense in a library, when you have surprise on your side, but it won't do you a bit of good against someone with a knife," he points out. I sigh.

_What would you suggest, then?_

"Wandering around this morning, I found an abandoned room we might be able to use. I know a few nice dirty tricks I could teach you, if you're interested," Skinner offers.

I nod cautiously. _Okay…When do we start? _I write questioningly.

"Find me here in an hour, and I'll show you where I'm talking about," he tells me. I nod, then we head our separate ways, me searching for the library once more until the hour passes. I find it, eventually, and read various good books for about forty five minutes before heading back to where I was supposed to meet Skinner.

When I arrive, I find he's already waiting for me, and he gestures me after him. I nod, following the invisible man through a labyrinthine combination of hallways until we finally reach a room, well lighted and hiding deep in the bowels of the _Nautilus_.

"In here," Skinner says, gesturing me into the room. I smile a thank you at him before ducking under his arm into the empty room.

"Unarmed or knives first?" He asks, cocking his head to the side. I shake my head and shrug, pulling out my journal. _Surprise me,_ I write.

"Okay, unarmed it is," he says, tossing a couple knives on the table. "Have you ever thrown a punch before?" he asks. I shake my head. _Not really. I've punched a wall once or twice when I was mad, though,_ I write.

"Okay, so we'll start with the basics. Are you left or right handed?" I raise my right hand. "Okay. First off, you have a terrible stance here. Try and angle so that you're not completely sideways from your opponent- here, face me," he says. I turn to look at him.

"Now, turn your left foot in a little, and angle yourself so that your feet are about shoulder width apart, and your right heel lines up with your big toe on your left foot." I do as told. "See how now you're not facing entirely away from me now, but there's still less room for me to hit?" I nod.

"Tuck in your elbows so that they're fairly tight now," he says. "They're good for defense, and we'll get to that later. Now make a fist- not like that!" Skinner exclaims. I give him an apologetic look.

"Here, let me see your hand," he says. Cautiously, I give him my hand, and he curls my fingers tightly in, taking the thumb and hooking it under the fingers. "Now, that's how you make a fist. Make sure your thumb is outside or you'll break it. Got that?" he questions. I nod, and then he starts to go into the other basics of fighting, showing me how to punch, sometimes demonstrating, sometimes trying to fix my stance, having me repeat the motion over and over again until he's satisfied. Then he starts on defense, how to take someone's attack and turn it against them We do this for several hours, until finally Skinner is convinced I can hold my own in fist fighting.

I take a drink of water, sighing. _You're a good instructor, _I write in the journal. _How do you know this stuff? _Skinner reads my message and laughs.

"You pick this kind of thing up when you're a thief. You learn quick when you have to defend yourself," he explains. I nod. _Gotcha. Are we ready to move on to knives?_ I ask. Skinner nods.

"Sure," he says, pulling out two of them and making as if to toss one to me, then thinking better of it and handing it, handle first to me. Even as one who has never held a knife for anything other than cutting steak, I can tell that this is a good one.

_Where'd you find this?_ I write in my notebook questioningly. _This is a good knife,_ I comment.

"Well, don't let me forget to give them back to Mina," he says. I raise my eyebrows.

_These are Mina's?_ I ask.

"Yeah, she has quite a collection. A girl like her shouldn't be playing with knives though. They're good quality though, and they'll suit our purposes just fine. It's not like she was using them," he comments in an off-hand way, shrugging. I shake my head. _You're crazy, _I write.

"Possibly," he says, and then he goes into teaching me about knives- throwing them, aiming, using them, and even a few tricks on how to get someone down without seriously injuring or killing them.

The morning is mostly gone when we finish. Skinner and I decide to head up to the deck or whatever it's called on the Nautilus for some fresh air after being cooped up in the back room all morning.

When we reach the sea, I lean out over the railing again. It feels so good, so open up here in comparison to inside the ship. I sigh in content. I notice Skinner beside me, leaning on the railing, and I tap him on the shoulder, pulling out the notebook and writing in it.

_Why me? _I ask. Skinner gives me a look. "What about you?" he questions, looking a little confused. _Why do you keep trying to protect me? _I ask. The question has been burning in the back of my mind since yesterday. He could have chosen to tease Mina, or talked more with Sawyer, or even annoyed Jekyll. If he wanted, he could have even gone around the ship stealing assorted objects. Yet, for whatever reason, he chose to protect me, teach me how to fight, and make sure I didn't get into too much trouble.

"As opposed to doing what?" he jokes. "Trying to rob you?"

_No, _I laugh. _Just…I'm sure there's other things you'd rather be doing._

"Oh, I'm sure I could find something, but I've always liked gingers," Skinner comments. I hit him playfully, a little harder than intended.

"Ow!" he says, rubbing his arm. "When I was teaching you to punch, I didn't mean practice on me," he mutters. I laugh.

_You asked for it,_ I point out. _What's your real reason?_

"Who said that wasn't it?" he asks. I'm about to respond to that when we hear Nemo announce that the solar panels are fully charged.

"We'll be diving in a moment," he warns, as Sawyer disappears into the _Nautilus._

"Mr. Quatermain, Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Skinner, Miss Riley," he says. As he walks past, Skinner tips his hat. "Nemo," he says. I give a little bow before entering into the _Nautilus _after Skinner.

Nemo shuts the door behind him, and there's the slightest of shifts in the ground as the Sword of the Ocean dips beneath the waves, cutting a path through the water, towards Venice, the future, and whatever uncertainties may await us there.

**There you have it- the end of chapter five! I hope everybody is enjoying the story thus far, and I really appreciate the reviews and those of you who are following this. Thank you again, and I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as I get the chance.**

**Bis Dann, Auf Wiedersehen**

**Bookworm!**


	6. Betrayal

**First off, an apology. I am ****_sooooo _****sorry for how long it took to update. It took twice as long as it should have, but luckily the chapter is twice as long as well. You can probably guess what happens in this chapter, but it doesn't happen until well at the end. For all who are out there reading this as well, HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Thank you to the reviewers of this story, RushMaiden, and Bookworm Gal. Thank you to shadow-of-the-phoenix 7 as well for following this story, and all of the rest of you out there who are following this. I really appreciate it. And now, without further ado, enjoy! CAUTION: This chapter has one curse word in it from the movie.**

When I reach the first set of hallways, I make as if to turn to my right. I'm trying to find my way back to the library when I hear Nemo call after me.

"Miss Riley, we are going to be meeting in a moment to discuss the next move now that we are on our way, if you would like to come. You are part of the League, and you might wish to be present," he suggests. I turn and nod, hurrying to catch up with him. I wonder what it is that's happening now. Did we get new information?

Nemo gathers the rest of the League, those who haven't already left, then leads us to another conference room with a desk in it, leaving Quatermain, Sawyer, Jekyll, Skinner and I alone for a moment while he goes to get Mina and Dorian, who seem to have already wandered back to their quarters.

We sit there in silence for a minute. No one seems to be in a talking mood, and it seems a little strange to me. Either we're all spacing out, or lost in thought, or we have something to say and we're just too afraid to say it. Whatever the case is, the silence is choking, and I wish I could break it.

_What do you think we're doing? _I write in the journal, tapping on Skinner. He shrugs. "Who knows? Knowing us freaky darlings, we could be talking about anything from the Fantom to the advantages of fur lined parkas," he mutters. I laugh lightly.

Just then, Nemo comes in with Mina and Dorian. Neither of them looks particularly pleased, and Mina actually looks annoyed. I bite back a grin, sensing that it's best not to laugh at an annoyed vampyre, if I value my life.

_But your real life isn't here_, a voice in the back of my mind points out. _Oh, shut it,_ I think back. I know it may be true, but I don't have the time to worry about that right now. No matter where my 'real life' is, and the true 'reality' lies, I am here right now, so it's kind of a moot point what's going on in my _real life_. Not like that's anything interesting anyways.

"So, Nemo," Dorian says after a moment of watching the Captain shuffle around. "What exactly are we here for?"

"To decide what we are doing, Mr. Gray," Nemo answers.

"If I may ask, Captain, how are we to do that? Have we received information recently?" Mina questions politely.

"You could say that," Nemo responds, laying out a book on the table and opening it. "The plans the Fantom stole from the Bank of England. These are copies, da Vinci's blueprints of Venice - its foundations and waterways," Nemo says, pointing to different parts of the map. Everyone looks over at the map lightly, though none of the League members seem to show any particular interest in it. In fact the only one who deigns to speak is, shockingly enough, Quatermain. "So you think he'll attack the conference by sea?" he asks Nemo. The old captain gives him a look with dark brown eyes, his expression saying that that's exactly what he thinks will happen.

There is a heavy silence. All the different members of the League seem to be lost in thought, though it's dubious at best to say that they're all thinking about the matter at hand. Dorian is toying with his cane, Sawyer is leaning on his gun and aside from Mina, is about the only person who seems half engaged. "That's wonderful," Skinner finally sighs. Jekyll jumps, startled out of whatever he was just brooding about. Probably his alter ego. "So what're we going to do about it?"

"Well that's easy," Sawyer says, standing up a little. "We stop him." Skinner raises a greasepaint covered eyebrow.

"Really? I thought we were going to invite him over for tea," Skinner remarks, sounding amused.

"Your sarcasm is not necessary, Mr. Skinner," Mina says a little sharply.

"How are we going to stop the Fantom though? Planning on asking him peacefully to give up the ghost?"

Sawyer shrugs. "That's the real question, I guess," he comments.

"Well, the real question is probably what he's going to be doing," Quatermain cuts in. "And that we don't know. One of us should study the plans to try and discover what the Fantom could be doing," he points out.

_How are we going to do that when we don't even know how the Fantom does what he does, much less his motivations of why? _I question, writing in the journal and tapping on Quatermain.

He scoffs. "It seems like a better idea than no preparation, don't you think?" I shrug. _Sure, I guess so. But what good is preparation if you're preparing wrong?_

Quatermain scowls at me. "Would you like to voice to us all a better idea, then, _Miss _Riley?" he asks, somewhat tauntingly. My jaw drops in shock, and then I close it. This may be the age of women being considered as subservient idiots, but it takes all I have not to write some cutting remark back. It's not my fault I can't speak and am a girl, after all, and he has no right to act like I'm some kind of imbecile because of it. So instead, I glare at him, then turn and walk away. I have nothing to say to Quatermain, and obviously my inability to talk makes anything I do have to say silly anyways, and so I leave. It's not like I'll be able to change his mind. The only person who'd be able to change the views of that stubborn old mule would be God himself, and that was even questionable.

By some subconscious whim, I somehow find myself back where Skinner was teaching me to fight earlier. Mina's knives still lay where I left them, unreturned still. I pick one up, looking at the sack of potatoes Skinner had found to practice on, and I walk away from the target, then turn to face it again. I think of the invisible thief's advice from earlier. _Follow through with your hand pointing where you're aiming. Throw handle first. _Carefully, I aim, then toss the knife. It misses by a mile. I sigh inwardly, then go to pick it up, trying again and again. I consistently fail, but it gets my mind off of the problem at hand. I finally try one last time, aiming carefully, trying to remember everything Skinner was telling me. _Okay, _I think. _Now ready…aim…_

"What happened to throwing from your wrist?" A voice says just as I throw the knife, causing it to go high and bounce off the steel of the ship. I turn to see Skinner leaning in the doorway, looking amused. "You forgot this," he says, waving the journal he gave me earlier in the air, then handing it to me.

_Thanks, _I write, giving him a small smile.

"You're welcome," he says. "Now, truly, what happened to your wrist? Is it no longer usable?"

_Ha, ha, very funny, _I write sarcastically. _I'm trying to remember. I just don't have much experience in any kind of combat ability._

"That's why I'm trying to teach you. With our band of freaky darlings, it could come in handy," he says.

_It'd be nice to say that it will help the other's views, but I don't think anything will change Quatermain's opinion. I'm just a mute girl who wears boy's clothes, _I sigh, twirling the pen in my fingers.

Skinner chuckles. "Keep working on the fighting, and you can show them you're not weak. Besides, I wouldn't worry about how the old grouch thinks. Unless you like hunting something to the ends of the Earth, he doesn't like much. He isn't much for me either."

I laugh. _Yeah, I can tell._

"Now, try throwing from your wrist," Skinner suggests. I do as he says, and I almost hit the bag. I try again, and this time I get the corner, but the knife grazes it so slightly that it makes no difference.

"You're getting closer," Skinner comments. "Keep trying." And so I do. I keep throwing the knife until finally I hit almost right in the center of the bag. I turn with a grin, only to find the floating coat and hat that was Skinner gone. The invisible thief seems to have a talent for slipping away unnoticed. I shake my head, then decide to leave the knife where it is. Then if I remember, I can show Skinner, or at least practice again later.

I walk quietly around the _Nautilus_. Any other time, I'd probably go to the library, but it holds no pull for me right now, which is a new feeling. I feel a little too restless to go dive into a new book, and meander the ship. The place is like a maze, and I have no idea where exactly I'm trying to go, but I just keep making random turns, until eventually I have no idea where I am. But somehow, I've ended up at something that looks almost like a monument.

There are a couple flowers looking fresh by a faded photograph of a woman and two children. Confused, I lean over and examine the picture closer, and it's only then that I notice the other figure in the back of the photo.

_Nemo…_ But what happened to the others? The way that the image seems to be part of a monument gives me the idea that something tragic befell them. Either way, I feel almost uncomfortable, as if I'm prying into something highly personal from Nemo's life.

Silently and respectfully, I back away and leave the room the way I've found it, racking my brains and trying to think of what I know about Nemo until finally I remember a book I read a couple years ago, _The Mysterious Island._ Nemo was Prince Dakkar, and his wife and children had been murdered in some kind of revolution that I couldn't remember the name of, causing him to build the Nautilus, take to the seas and never look back. True, he was a pirate in some instances, yet only in the best of ways.

I stop for a moment, feeling truly sorry for the old Captain. Remembering his history only makes me the more surprised that he joined onto this venture at all, given his distaste for the Empire. Were I him, I never would have joined in, especially not with Quatermain, since the first words he ever spoke towards Nemo were to call him a pirate. Even though he probably had extreme amounts of patience, the fact that Nemo could tolerate Quatermain was shocking to me, especially since the old man was pretty much the very embodiment of everything that Nemo disliked about humanity and the Empire.

Bringing myself back to the present, I realize that, while lost in my thoughts, I've probably just gotten myself even more lost than I was before. Sure enough, ten minutes of desperately trying to retrace my steps and I consistently end up back where I started. Sighing, I lean back against the wall for a minute. Leave it to me to get lost in a huge ship, in about the only part of it that didn't have a bunch of people going through it that I could ask for directions.

I look down at the floor, wondering what I'm going to do now, when I notice footprints. A smile creeps onto my face. I've been trying to find my way back to the cabin by memory, but maybe, I could use the footprints to lead me back. It's worth a shot.

At first, I end up following the wrong footprints and going in circles again, but after a few tries, I finally end up on the right track, and I follow the prints, looking at the ground until finally I reach more familiar territory.

Smiling, I look up. It's probably around suppertime, but I'm not sure. Oh well. If Nemo's past behaviour is any sign, then he'll probably assemble the League when we're ready to eat. In the meantime, I need something else to do, something that doesn't concern getting lost on the _Nautilus_. I've just passed into an intersection of hallways when a door at the end of the hall opens. Quatermain is standing there, his hand looking like he's holding a mischievous schoolboy by the neck, provided the schoolboy is invisible. _Invisible…_

"Skinner," Quatermain begins. "I want you dressed at all times, eh?" he asks, shoving forward. A coat rack beside me tips precariously and nearly falls over, but I catch it just in time, stumbling backward. "Or it's my boot up your ass!"

"Old grouch," Skinner mutters, and the coat rack straightens with some invisible help. "You all right?" Skinner asks, taking his coat and hat and putting them on. _I'm fine, _I write. _You?_

"I'm still in one piece, though I think if Quatermain had his way, he'd change that," Skinner comments.

_What were you trying to do?_ I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Trying to be an invisible thief and steal Matilda," Skinner says. I look at him questioningly. _Matilda…Who's Matilda? _"His gun," Skinner replies. "He gave his gun a name, and I was going to just float it out the door and try and lighten the mood around here. That worked out well," he mutters. I bust out laughing at the image of Skinner taking Quatermain's gun and making it float out of the room out of the blue. My laugh is really weird though, and it sounds vaguely like I have the hiccups. Skinner stares at me strangely, until finally he joins in, and we stay like that for a minute, laughing until I cry.

When I can breathe again, I wipe my eyes and grin. _That felt good,_ I giggle. _You're crazy._

Skinner chuckles. "Oh, I'm the crazy one, am I? I wasn't the one standing out on the wet railing of the _Nautilus _like a gargoyle this morning," he says, raising an eyebrow. I think of my earlier venture, and feel the blood rush to my face in embarrassment.

_You saw that?_ I write. Skinner nods. _How did I not see you?_

"Invisible, remember?" Skinner points out. I bite my lip and look at the ground. Didn't see that one coming. I look up again, face red.

"It was a good kind of crazy," Skinner says. "Even if it was a somewhat life-threatening type."

_I guess so…_ I write, still feeling embarrassed.

"Riley, you're about to run into another wall. Look up," Skinner warns. When I look up, I realize that we've come to my room, and I wonder how Skinner knows where it is. His knowledge probably has something to do with the fact that I almost ran into him right outside of the cabin this morning.

_Sorry,_ I write. _I'm a bit uncoordinated._ Skinner raises his eyebrows. "Nice to know. Well, try not to end up in pieces because of your uncoordination for a while. You won't be able to do much against the Fantom if you're in the infirmary," he says.

I crack a smile, then wave goodbye at him. _Thanks for the lessons,_ I write. Skinner nods. "You're welcome," he says, and then I head into the room. When I peek out a couple minutes later, the invisible thief's jacket is hanging on the coat rack, and he's nowhere to be seen.

I have no idea where he's gone off to, but I know that I get a brilliant idea, and I take Skinner's coat and hat from the coat rack and stick it in my room, coming out just as one of Nemo's men, Ishmael if I'm not mistaken, comes up and tells me that dinner is served. I nod, picking up my journal. When he starts to head back to the dining area, I tap on his shoulder, confused. _What of the others? _I ask.

Ishmael looks down at me and shrugs. "They asked to take the meal in their cabins." I nod, and write no more, following him to the dining area. I wonder why no one wants to assemble over a meal. It strikes me as odd that we are a group of eight people who are supposed to be fighting in battle together to protect a city and kill off a supervillain that is far more terrifying than the ones that I used to believe in from the comics and horror books in a matter of mere days, yet we can't even take the time to eat in a group at one time.

When we get to the dining hall, it is only to discover that Captain Nemo has had little more luck than Ishmael in gathering League members. Sawyer, Quatermain, and I are the only ones aside from Nemo and Ishmael who have taken the time to eat together. Despite my previous thoughts, at the very least, I wish that Quatermain, of all members, would have chosen differently. I still have no desire to speak with him, which is good because, as he so tactfully pointed out, I can't.

"Where is everyone?" Nemo asks, perplexed. Ishmael bows slightly. "They all asked to eat in their cabins." Sawyer sighs. "We may be a League, but we're sure not a team," he mutters, pushing away from the table. He has a valid point, and I can't agree more, but the reasons for it are so blatantly obvious to me that it's laughable. Maybe it's just because I'm so used to watching from the sidelines that I notice that kind of thing.

The League can't be a team because we're so separate. We're lost in battling our own demons, and pushing people away. Quatermain pushes away anything that isn't male with a gun. Jekyll is constantly battling his alter ego, from what I can tell. Skinner isn't easily welcomed by most of the others- he's not only invisible, but a thief, for crying out loud. Mina is a vampire, and that's demon enough. Dorian, for whatever reason, has a serious superiority complex, and that shoves everything away, no matter what it is. Nemo has memories of his family and running the _Nautilus_ to contend with. About the only one who seems approachable to everyone is Sawyer, but Quatermain's chosen him out of the entire League to be halfway decent to, so no one dares to go up to say hi. We're so utterly divided amongst ourselves…How could we ever be more than a League?

I shake my head, picking up an apple and tossing it gently in my hand, making a small game of it until I notice everyone looking at me strangely and finally start to eat at it. "So how long until Venice?" Sawyer finally asks. Nemo nods. "We should be upon it the day after tomorrow," he says.

Sawyer looks dubious, and I agree with him that arriving the next evening is probably cutting it a little close. However, I have no other ideas, and I'm confident Nemo has his head firmly on his shoulders. If there was a way to get us to Venice earlier, Nemo of all people would find it. The old Captain was doing the best he could. We just have to trust Nemo- what else is there for us to do?

When I finish with my apple, I hang around awkwardly in the background. I know I could probably leave if I wanted, but I feel like there's nothing better to do, and it seems a little rude just to up and leave. So I wait until there is a pause in the conversation, then I cautiously go up to Nemo and tap his shoulder lightly.

_Can I head back to my cabin, Captain Nemo?_ I request. Nemo nods. I give him a small smile, and bow a little before leaving, trying to remember which way it is to my room. It's far easier than I thought it would be, which is in part due to the fact that I must be getting used to traveling the _Nautilus._

It isn't until I'm back in the cabin that I realize just how tired I am. With a yawn, I make the bed and am asleep almost before my head hits the pillow, dropping me into the landscape of dreams once more.

_"What is wrong with her?" My mom's voice sounds anguished. I am once more in the darkness, where I can hear but not act upon anything. I want to reach out to my mother, tell her just how sorry I am, that I'm just fine, but I can do nothing. Instead, I'm forced to listen to her worried voice._

_"We don't know," a different, somehow analytical voice responds. "We've done scans, we've done tests, we've analyzed her charts into nothing, but there's nothing that we can find to explain why her condition won't stay stable."_

_"There must be something, Doctor," the voice of my father cuts in. _

_"If there is, we don't know what it is. I'm sorry, but at this time, your daughter's survival all depends on her will to live."_

_"But," Mom stutters. "I don't get it. If it depends on her will to live, why does her condition keep getting worse? Why would she not want to live?"_

_It's the month of my junior prom, and my Mom looks out the corner of her eye at me. "Hey, Riley," she says. "Are you going to prom?"_

_The idea is laughable, and I shake my head violently. I don't do any kind of social, not for years. The idea of having to pretend to care about who's dating who, punch and pizza, pretending I really like being at some over glorified party horrifies me. Mom laughs._

_"Oh, come on, you know you want to," she says. "It would be so fun! Hanging out with friends, getting to be a teenager…I loved my prom," Mom promises. _You also could talk, _I think. I shake my head again._

_"Why not?" Mom asks. I point at my book and make a thumbs up. Mom frowns. "You won't go because that's a good book?" she questions, trying to process. I nod. She laughs a little disbelievingly. "You are kidding, right? You want to miss out on a rite of passage like prom for a book?" I nod again. She sighs angrily._

_"I don't get it Riley. Why can't you even try to be normal? You're always living in books instead of reality. When are you going to come out of your stories, and come back to me?" _

I wake up then, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Once again, it would appear I've woken up before the sun. I haven't figured out yet why my internal clock insists on waking me up so early. I blink, yawning as I go through my morning routine again, and I'm asleep before I even remember my dream again. I consider it as I head quietly out of the hall, going over to the slightly ajar door that I found yesterday, heading up to watch the sunrise again. Nemo is there once more, and I feel almost bad for bothering him. I walk silently up to the railing and stare out at the sea.

I remember the prom from the dream. I ended up going after all, in a forest green floral dress. Mom picked me up about an hour and a half after she dropped me off, my dress torn and muddy from falling when some of the others chased me clear through the forest prom was by. She never tried to convince me to go to another dance after that disaster.

I think of her questions. _Why wouldn't she want to live?_ I wonder if she would ever guess that it's not like I don't want to live. I'm just not sure where I want to be at. Maybe I don't even have a real choice. But if I did have a choice, I don't even know what I would choose. My old life, or this new one full of adventure? The family I used to know, or those who I'm meeting now? I have no clue.

I wonder if Mom ever would have guessed just how relevant her question about me coming out of my stories would be about now. I really am living in a story now, at least partially. I still haven't decided if it was more fun to read about the adventures. It certainly was safer.

I wonder what we'll be doing today. Maybe Quatermain has made some kind of progress on figuring out what he thinks the Fantom will be doing. I guess I'll find out later. In the meantime, I don't want to think of what happens next. I just want to think of the peace of the moment, watching the sun slowly come up on a new day.

An hour must have passed before I finally head back down into the _Nautilus, _trying to see what awaits me now. Luckily enough, I don't run into anyone immediately, and have just enough time to make it into my room before the resident haughty immortal makes his way down the hall. Sitting down on the bed, I almost sit on Skinner's coat, and I remember that I was planning on messing with him today, as I don his jacket, which is just a little too long and put on his hat. I flip up the collar of the jacket, tucking my hair under it and grin at the mirror. Between the hat and the jacket, I look a little like Skinner.

Still smiling, I walk out into the hall, headed towards the dining room. Before I get too far, I successfully run into Skinner, who is wearing a different, lighter color coat and turns to look at me, in his real jacket.

"There's where those went!" Skinner exclaims. "What are you doing with my clothes?"

I pull out the journal. _Impersonating you. Look, I'm Skinner! _I grin as he reads my handwriting.

Skinner laughs. "You're a little too visible to be me. Can I have them back now?" I grin wider and shake my head. _Nope._

"Riley!" he calls, one of his hands trying to take the hat off my head. I duck and laugh just as he tries to get it. Skinner tries again, and I take off running. I can hear him behind me, and I laugh, running harder while he keeps telling me to give him his clothing back. Skinner ends up chasing me halfway around the _Nautilus _when I finally run into a dead end, and he swipes the hat back, sounding a little out of breath as he puts it back on, then sticks his hand out for the coat. I sigh, making a face then giving it back to him.

"You're a fast runner," he says, buttoning it up. I shrug. _Thanks, _I write on the wall, not bothering to pull out the journal. What's the point? Skinner nods, but doesn't reply. There's really nothing to say, and so we just head towards the dining hall, grabbing some fruits and munching on them quietly. We're eating out on the deck when Skinner sighs.

"This is nice," he comments. I nod, looking out as the light sparkles on the waves. _It's pretty, _I write agreeably. I look over at Skinner, and find him staring blankly out at the ocean, as we lean over the railing, some water spraying up onto my face.

There's silence for some time, and then I can hear the soft thumping of boots on the tread leading up to the deck of the _Natuilus. _Skinner and I have been alone for the last bit of time. Skinner straightens up silently, slowly.

"Well, if you get a chance, you should work on your knife throwing," he suggests suddenly. I nod. _I probably will, _I write. "Throw from your wrist," he reminds. I nod again.

_What are you doing?_ I ask. Skinner shrugs.

"I'll probably go and annoy our band of freaky darlings a bit," he says. I nod. _See you, _I write, waving and smiling. Skinner nods, tipping his hat slightly to me then heading back down just as Mina comes up.

I look out calmly at the waves, and Mina walks out beside me, still standing prim and proper, as if any lapse of etiquette would end horrifically. I smile at her, and after a moment, she returns the gesture with a small, stiff smile of her own. It's not much, but it's something. I think about my memories of every good vampyre story I've ever read, and a small part of me wonders why Mina hasn't exploded into flames or something yet. The better part decides not to ask, certain that Mina would tell me if it was my business, which it most certainly is not. However, it does interest me why on earth Mina got interested in chemistry, of all things to do with her immortal life, even back in 1899.

_Mrs. Harker?_ I write, tapping her on the shoulder. She turns to look at me, and raises one eyebrow politely, reading my words. "Yes?" she asks.

_How did you end up interested in chemistry?_ Mina raises her eyebrows again, and something flickers in her eyes for a moment, then disappears as if it were never there. Mina blinks. "There are not enough women in this age who work for themselves. I mean only to bring up the count, and chemistry is a fairly entertaining field to do such in," she replies, her voice prim. I nod understandingly, even though I'm doubtful that she's giving me the whole story.

_What kind of stuff do you do?_ I ask. I was taking a chemistry class when current circumstances placed me here in my new story.

_Wait…_my new _story?_ I think. When the heck did I decide this was my story, and not some kind of a vacation? My real story is somewhere on the other side of the future, resting at the other end of eternity in a hospital bed. At least, I think that's my real story. _Oh, crimeny, who cares?_ I mutter in my mind, then turn to look at Mina, who looks like she's ready to respond to my question when Nemo comes up behind her and touches her lightly. "Mrs. Harker, could I speak with you?" Mina turns.

"Yes, Nemo?" she asks, her expression betraying no emotion as she goes to talk to the Captain. He glances around distrustfully for a moment, making me wonder why before he starts to talk to Mrs. Harker in a low voice. As he's talking, Quatermain comes up with his gun from below, and I instantly think of Skinner last night, trying to steal Matilda, and have to bite my lip from busting out laughing. Quatermain gives me a strange look, not that that's anything new, and yet I still can't hide my smile. But there are far too many people coming, and my restlessness from this morning has faded, leaving me with an urge to go hunt out Nemo's library and just read until someone finds me and tells me to stop.

So, I head down to the well stocked literary haven of the _Nautilus_ and try to lose myself in a book. Shockingly enough, I succeed. I am dead to the world, and I begin to find myself living in yet another story, burying myself in the peace and quiet of turning pages while the rest of the League lives out their lives.

It's probably well after noon when I emerge from my hiding place and return to actual life aboard the _Nautilus. _I'm actually headed to see about returning outside, maybe having something from the dining room for lunch when I run across Mina and Quatermain. They're staring down the hall at something, though the identity of that something is beyond me until I creep quietly behind them and Captain Nemo comes into view.

His normal outfit of blue has been replaced with one of white, and he draws a sword out, kneeling down and leaning by it in some kind of ritual. He sits in some kind of a white sanctuary, the only real decoration within being a statue of a goddess that looks vaguely familiar. For the life of me, I can't recall the name of her though. Or maybe it was a him. I don't really remember.

"That's Kali, goddess of Death," I hear Mina whisper. _Kali,_ I think. _That's what the name was._ "Nemo worships Death. Can we trust him?" I give her a look, even though I know she can't see. This is the same stuff that drove me crazy in my old life- people arguing about religion and worship and if following one god made you any better, worse or more trustworthy than someone following another deity. It was all very confusing to me then, and nothing's changed now.

I listen closely as Quatermain leans slightly towards Mina. "He's not the one I'm worried about," he whispers to her. Then he walks off as Nemo turns around and gazes at Mina from down the hall with dark brown eyes, deep and full of secrets, closing the doors to his sanctuary as he stares down at her in the thundering silence. They close with a soft click, and Mina continues to stare at the doors. I think of Quatermain's comment. _He's not the one I'm worried about._ I can honestly say for once that I agree with Quatermain, that Nemo has only the best intentions and is not worthy of any kind of distrust. I firmly believe the old captain is a man of his word, and any feelings of dishonesty from him are misconceptions. But then to whom was Quatermain referring? Dr. Jekyll, with his alter ego? Or perhaps Dorian, who to me seems sly and cold and calculating, not at all loyal? Or does he mean Skinner, the invisible thief, purely because he has the best grounds for sneaking about?

I shake my head, then jump as Mina turns around and looks at me. "What were you asking about up on deck earlier this morning, Riley?" she inquires, as if nothing has happened. For the briefest of moments, I admire her for her evident ability to let her mind switch tracks so easily.

_I was just wondering what kind of things you do with chemistry. Do you have to make things explode? _I write. Mina gives me a sharp look.

"No, I do not make things _explode_." She spits out the word like it's poison. "I'm actually working on identifying a powder now, if you would like to come and see what I do." I nod cautiously. "Follow me then," she says, briskly walking off and leaving me to follow her.

Eventually, we come to a room, and Mina opens the door, gesturing me inside impatiently. I do as told and gawk in awe at all the lab equipment. It seems that all sizes and shapes of beakers and test tubes are well represented, along with a small case that looks like it has chemicals in it. _There's so many,_ I write. _How do you keep track of all this?_ I ask.

"In my time, I've learned a few tricks for memorizing and organizing, both of which are vital to my pastime as a chemist," she replies. "It becomes easier as you go along."

I nod. _So what do you do with all this?_ _With the powder, how do you identify that sort of thing?_ Mina nods and considers my question for a moment.

"A lot of it is mixing and testing. You see, certain chemicals have certain reactions to different tests, which can identify them. However, quite a few have the same reaction, but the more tests you perform, the more you narrow your search, and the greater chance you stand of identifying your powder," she says, carefully measuring out bits and pieces of various assorted chemicals and mixing them with the mystery powder.

_Do you ever get the chemicals confused?_ I begin to write when a smooth, dark voice speaks from nowhere, causing me to jump and screw up my lettering.

"Mina," Dorian says, leaning in the doorway. He shoots me a look of pure venom.

"Dorian," she replies, her voice betraying nothing. I look between the two of them, remembering what Skinner said about lover's reunions and those two. I blink, then hurriedly scribble something in my journal. _I should probably go. Thanks for showing me your chemistry equipment,_ I write. Mina reads it and nods, and I hurry out of the room before I see more of the 'lover's reunion' than I want to.

Thinking of Skinner makes me realize I haven't seen the invisible thief in a little bit, and on the way out of Mina's room, while considering this, I almost run into Dr. Jekyll. _Sorry, _I write out. _I wasn't looking where I was going._ Dr. Jekyll shakes his head.

"That's all right. How is your head?" he asks, gesturing to my wound. I grin. _It's doing fine. You did a good job cleaning it. Thank you, _I write. Something flashes in his eyes that I can only guess at, something that I'm sure is of the nature that 'I wouldn't have a wound if not for his alter ego'. "Yes, you're welcome," he says absently.

_Have you seen Skinner?_ I question.

"No, I'm afraid I've not seen any sign of the invisible man anywhere recently, though that's hardly uncommon considering his condition," Dr. Jekyll says. I shrug. _True enough. Thanks anyway,_ I write, and then head off on my way to try and find Skinner. No matter who I ask, or where I look, it would seem no one has found hide nor hair of him for a while now.

I'm about to give up my search when I run into Nemo. He's back in his normal clothing, no sign of the somber fare he was wearing for his little ceremony earlier today. I bow slightly to him, and he gives a small smile in return before heading on his way, scarcely stopping to acknowledge my presence. He seems to be in some kind of a hurry. I keep walking until finally, I find Sawyer. I wave at him, grinning.

"Hey Riley," he says. "How are you?"

_I'm fine,_ I write. _And you?_

"Still breathing."

I laugh at that. _What are you doing though?_

Sawyer leans on his gun. "Actually, I'm just headed down for a meeting with Captain Nemo and Quatermain, and whoever else we might be able to find from the League," he says. "You're part of the League. You coming?" I hesitate, thinking of the last time I was in a meeting with Quatermain, then nod. I'm not going to hide from him forever.

As I walk with Sawyer down towards whatever conference room this is going to be in now, we're silent. I don't know what Sawyer's thinking about, but I'm still trying to figure out where in the devil Skinner went. He may be invisible, but so far, he hasn't disappeared quite like this.

When we reach the meeting, Quatermain and Nemo are already there, leaning over the blueprints of Venice.

"So you think that he'd try something like that?" Quatermain asks.

"It would not surprise me," Nemo responds, looking up.

"What'd we miss?" Sawyer questions.

Quatermain straightens. "Nothing much. I was just telling Nemo about what I was thinking the Fantom would do based upon the blueprints."

I nod, and so does Sawyer. "I got it," he says. "What'd you discover, Columbus?" he asks jokingly. Quatermain gives him a confused look, as does Nemo. "Never mind," Sawyer shakes his head. "What'd you find out?"

"Only reassuring that this Fantom would use the path of most destruction in Venice. It's a city built on water, and it has room for plenty of destruction," Quatermain says.

"If he's attacking by sea though, why would he need the blueprints of Venice to figure out the capacity of destruction? I mean, it's hard to miss the canals," Sawyer says.

_He'd obviously need to know where to place the bomb. If the Fantom had those plans, imagine the damage he could do,_ I write just as Quatermain says something similar. Scary...We're thinking on the same wavelength.

"So it's clear," Nemo says. "With da Vinci's blueprints and enough explosives, he could set a bomb that would blow Venice's foundations to rubble."

Sawyer looks horrified. "He's gonna sink the whole city!" he exclaims.

"Yes, and spark off his world war," Quatermain agrees, gesturing to the blueprints.

The voice of Dr. Jekyll pops out of the blue, startling me and causing me to turn around. "I'm afraid that's not the sum of our problems." Quatermain and Nemo look interested, turning to look at the doctor, encouraging him to continue.

"Skinner," he says. "He's taken a vial of my formula."

_What?_

His words drop like a stone. Did he really just accuse Skinner of stealing his formula? What on Earth could Skinner want with a vial of the formula that created Hyde? Besides, he knew that Jekyll would jump to conclusions if a vial went missing and freak out. He may be an invisible thief, but he's not cruel, and he wouldn't do that to a fellow League member. At least, I don't think he would.

"Are you sure?" Quatermain asks, and I almost smile. Does he really have a sliver of doubt?

"Who else?" Jekyll growls. "You've seen how the sneaky blackguard operates."

My jaw drops in anger. What proof does Jekyll have? There is a long silence that stretches out, in which my doubt in Skinner's guilt only grows. Jekyll has no proof and Skinner has no reason to take the elixir. Something doesn't add up.

"Well, Riley, I guess we know where Skinner is," Sawyer finally says. _No, we don't,_ I write. _We have no proof that he is the thief, and even if we did, we still wouldn't know._

"Isn't it obvious where he's at?" Quatermain asks. "The filthy traitor is hiding. He's only brave when people don't know he's double-crossed them." Quatermain's words fill me with an unexplainable anger for some reason, and I turn to glare at him. Before I can even think, I slap him hard in the jaw.

There is a dead silence that screams of exactly what my thoughts are on Skinner. Quatermain looks fit to kill, and more than a little shocked that a mere _girl _had the impudence to not bow to him, and as I look around, I realize everyone is looking at me like I have eight eyes. Quite frankly, I don't care though. There are a billion things I want to say and can't. Instead, I let the silence say it for me as I turn and run.

I keep running, past Mina and Dorian, past numerous members of Nemo's crew and don't stop until I've reached the training room once more. I stand in the middle and kick the sack of potatoes.

This is wrong. Skinner has been framed. I refuse to believe that the person who took me in from square one, mute and all, and has been nothing but helpful to me is the traitor. Maybe I'm naïve, but I can't bring myself to accept that he would take the time to be kind to me and earn my trust just to stab me in the back, along with the rest of the League.

I don't know what's happened for sure, or what is going on now, but what I do know is this. I will not give up on Skinner until the second I know for certain that he is the traitor, and I don't care if every single member of the League hates me for it. Skinner helped me out when I came into this story suddenly. Now I'm going to return the favour and help him.

Heaven help anyone who tried to change my mind.

**Wah wah wah… So there's the end of the chapter. Please, please, please review if you get a chance, I really appreciate it. I hope you're liking the story so far, and I'll try to get more posted soon. Bis dann, Auf Wiedersehen!**

**Bookworm**


	7. Venice

**Howdy, y'all. It's me, Bookworm, and I have a few things to say. The first thing is an apology. I realize that this has been an insanely long wait to post this chapter, and that it shouldn't have taken anywhere close to two months to update. I'm not going to make excuses- I didn't know what to write, and every time I tried, the chapter came out wacky and I would rewrite almost all of it. So I apologize for that. The second is thank you, to those who are reading this and continue to review the story- I really do appreciate it. So thank you much to Bookworm Gal, Shadowofthephoenix7, muse-in-waiting, Wolfsbane, Geekgirl, RushMaiden and WitchWhoLovesHim for reviewing this story. Thank you to caligirl538, chasesgirl2 and angelofroses as well for favoriting this story. I apologize once more for the wait, and I hope the chapter is worth the time. Thank you also to muse-in-waiting with help on character backgrounds in the last chapter for Nemo. Muse has a great story as well for the LXG that you should check out. Anyways, enjoy! WARNING: This chapter includes some mild swearing. **

I kick at the sack of potatoes until my foot is numb and aching and I have to sit down. I'm certain I probably broke about a dozen of the techniques Skinner was trying to teach me earlier today, but I'm still too angry to care.

What happened to Skinner? Where did he go off to? Was he even still on the boat? I mean, I know that there weren't a whole lot of places where he could gone besides the vessel, but how many places could there be in this ship for an invisible thief to hide?

_Plenty, _my mind answers. _Especially if he's the traitor and doesn't want to be found. _

_Shut up! _I tell myself. Oh grand, now I'm arguing with myself. Isn't that one of the key signs of insanity? But when I can't talk, and I don't even want to, the only person left to speak with is my mind. The same mind that is completely and utterly confused.

I'm not sure what to do. The only thing I'm sure of is that where I am now is exactly where I'm staying until I have to leave, for food or otherwise. The rest of the League probably wants to see me about as much as I want to see them. The only person I want to see and talk to at the moment is not only invisible, but is likely to not be in a talking mood.

So until I do finally leave, what to do with my time? Maybe I could sit, or brood, but that hardly seems productive.

_If you get a chance, you should work on your knife throwing._ Unbidden, Skinner's words come back to me from earlier today. Had he been dropping a hint? That was what had happened! He'd hidden to avoid getting in trouble. He was innocent. Maybe he was here now. Maybe he was giving me a clue! Maybe-

_Maybe you're seeing what isn't there._

I deflate internally. Gah, I don't know what I think. It's entirely possible that my imagination is running away. Heaven only knows that it wouldn't be the first time. But I want so badly for Skinner to be innocent that I'll use any theory to convince myself.

Maybe I'm crazy. But I don't care. I may not know what exactly has happened or is going to happen. But Skinner told me to fight. And so I'll fight.

Finally having some kind of a purpose, I stand up again and head over to the sack of potatoes. _Work on your knife throwing. _

I look around the little area. It's a great idea, but where did the knives go? I groan mentally. How am I supposed to practice throwing knives if I can't even find knives to throw?

_Okay, plan B,_ I think. I drag the sack of potatoes over to the center of the room, and with a little work, I stack the others on top of it until there is a decent sized pile to work with. I think of the techniques Skinner had been showing me as I get into a proper stance. Then I punch the potatoes. There is no result except a pain in my thumb. _Tuck it under,_ I think. _Right._ I try again, and the stack shudders slightly. I grin, and keep working on it until finally, I hit a lucky spot and it falls.

Smiling, I go to remake the pile and do the same thing. But on the fifth punch, a sharp pain hits my hand. Shaking it out and grimacing, I look to see a little prick of blood. _What the heck? _I wonder, looking closer at the stack of potatoes. About seven bags down, where I just punched, a small point of metal pokes out. I smile, taking off the bags on top, reaching cautiously into the one in question. Sure enough, when I retract my hand, in its grasp is both of Mina's missing knives. It would seem Skinner forgot to return them.

I grin, taking the top sack and laying it over by the door. I take one of the knives, and carefully aim it. When I throw it, the blade goes wide and misses. I think of Skinner's advice. What am I missing? I'm holding the blade right…I'm in the right positioning…I'm certain it's not my aim…What else is there?

_Throw from your wrist! _The words come at me like an echo. That would be what I'm missing. It's the one rule I always forget. When I try it, I get closer. I grin and keep trying until I get lucky and hit dead-center.

_One lucky shot isn't enough,_ I tell myself, retrieving the knife. I try again and keep going until my arm is tired, and every time I throw it, I get a bulls-eye.

My stomach is growling, and I'm not sure what time it is. It must be well after ten o'clock, if I'm any judge of such things. The vast majority of the League should be asleep. I should be fairly clear for getting a quick snack then disappearing into the background and my cabin in the _Nautilus. _That in mind, I hide the knives again before heading out of the room, pleased that I at least did something of purpose and hoping that this problem with Skinner gets fixed sooner rather than later.

**_Skinner watched Riley silently from the corner. A part of the invisible thief wanted to make some kind of encouraging joke, to tell her that just because she couldn't see him didn't mean he wasn't there. But he wasn't willing or able to risk the rest of the League being angry with her too, though that was unavoidable. He'd followed her here after she had hit Quatermain. She'd had good form while doing it, and he would have laughed in different circumstances. Even in her silence, she was entertaining. _**

**_Skinner watched her practicing her fighting technique and almost groaned aloud when she punched the knife in the sack. _****I ****_knew_**** I should have put those knives somewhere she couldn't manage to hurt herself on them, ****_he thought. Shaking his head, Skinner watched Riley work on knife throwing from the corner, almost yelping when her knife went wild and nearly hit him. Would she ever remember to throw from her wrist? The invisible thief shook his head. He just kept watching Riley in amusement as she practiced until finally she got it right. He could only hope that her work served her well when the _****Nautilus****_reached Venice._**

I walk through the corridors cautiously. If the League is asleep, I have no intents of changing that. It's almost deathly quiet in here, save for the low hum of the ship's engines. Silently, I head up to the dining quarters. As I do so, it is almost a subconscious act, which shocks me. When did I become so used to traversing the _Nautilus_?

_Probably some time after getting lost and constantly heading here, there and everywhere,_ I think, grabbing a fruit and munching into it. Where Nemo keeps all of this, I will never know. The _Nautilus _is huge, I'll admit, but it is still lost upon me where all the materials required for living out at sea for heaven only knows how long are stored. As I walk along, back to my cabin for the evening, realizing that I probably need to get to sleep myself, I allow my mind to space out for a moment.

Tomorrow, we are going to be upon Venice. The Fantom is going to try to blow up the whole city. If we stop it, Venice is saved and peace preserved. If we fail, peace fails and a world war starts.

No pressure, right?

I know tomorrow will probably be spent avoiding most of the League whenever possible, even though it's more than a little cowardly. But I have no business with the rest of them, and I won't be in their company until I absolutely have to. Even when we reach our destination though, I've no doubt believing I'll be the one left behind at the ship. After all, what good is a mute girl who can throw knives fairly decently and land a punch marginally well in comparison to an immortal, a hunter, a vampyre, some guy with huge bipolar problems, and a secret service agent? Nemo might be staying back as well, if for no other reason than to protect his lady.

I sigh, throwing the apple up and catching it. Why I decided to actually sign up for all this is beyond me anymore. If I was looking for adventure, I should have stayed in the library. There were plenty of adventures there that didn't require people to die, or cities to be blown up, or for me to have to live the thrilling betrayals I so loved reading about. So why didn't I take the adventures in paper over something I knew nothing about?

_Because you're silly that way. You read too many books and decided that you could be the brave heroine who saves the day, and now you're realizing you can't. Face it- you're a mute girl who's barely seventeen. How are you going to save the world?_

_Katniss saved Panem when she was 17, _I think in response to my own mind, realizing how sad it is that I'm arguing with myself.

_She was a survivor. She could speak. That was a story. This is real._ I sigh in defeat. It would seem I can't even win with my own mind today… I'm just considering this thought when I, quite literally, run into Dorian.

He's standing in the middle of the hall, leaning on his cane and appearing somewhat annoyed. So much for the League being asleep. What's he doing up at this hour? I give a fake smile, and try to brush past him. I'd rather not deal with the haughty immortal now, or ever, if I can avoid it. I have nothing to say to him, and he has nothing to say to me. Or so I thought.

"For a girl, you seem to throw a punch well," he says dryly.

_Yes, for a mute girl who should be managing a home by your standards, I suppose I do,_ I write. It's probably not the most diplomatic of responses, but honestly, I just don't care. I'm tired, I'm annoyed, and I really don't like Dorian. The immortal smiles without humour. "Yes, Quatermain's face is evidence of that. But that is not what I wish to speak to you about."

_Really? _I write. _Because I don't feel like speaking to you either. I'd rather go to bed, thanks. _Dorian shakes his head slowly.

"Why do you defend that blackguard Skinner?" he asks. I could almost laugh.

_Because I do, and I don't think he's the traitor. _I write. Where the flip did _this _line of questioning come from?

Dorian has the arrogance to look amused. "And how do you support that claim?" he asks.

_What is this, an interrogation? Because I do, alright?_ _If this is all you want to talk about, then you'd best let me through before you end up with your face matching Quatermain's. _I say, shoving the notebook at him.

"Your silence is not very threatening," Dorian jabs. I'm really starting to think I'm going to have to slug him too when he continues before I get a chance. "I am merely telling you the simple facts. If you wish to defend your invisible friend, you might consider becoming like him, because there is no one else who agrees with you about the matterr," Dorian suggests smoothly. He says this calmly, as if he is just giving me a cautionary warning, but in his words, I hear the undertone of his threat, and his very clear message- either I stop defending Skinner, or I disappear like him. If he means that by choice or by force, I have no idea.

Why would Dorian care if I believed the suspicions or not, anyways? I'm about to ask him when I realize he's long gone, leaving nothing but echoing words and a lingering chill down my spine. I shiver, fear in the knowledge that there is something desperately wrong. Invisible thieves do not disappear without a trace and immortals do not wander the halls with threats. I shudder visibly, and hurry back the rest of the way to my cabin, a foreboding feeling lingering in the air as I do so. When I arrive, I hurriedly prepare for sleep, still feeling that there is something terribly wrong. It isn't long before I fall into a fitful rest.

_Back in the limbo of time and space. This time though, it seems different somehow. The voices and sounds I hear are more faded, hushed almost. It's like listening to them through a blizzard, or thick layers of cotton. It's hard to hear, and the words slur together until they can hardly be understood. But, if I try hard enough, I can make out the sound of my mother's voice._

_"Riley…" she begins hesitantly, slowly, and I can hear her sniffle. "I know you and I, we didn't always get along very well. We had our differences and our arguments. But I still loved you, even if you were silent." There's a long pause, and I hear her take a deep breath._

_"Riley, I don't know where you are, or if you can even hear me. But if you can, wherever you are, please just listen to me and come back. I don't care if you never speak again, as long as you're here. Don't leave us here without a goodbye. Please," she begs. Distantly, I can feel her pounding lightly on the mattress. "Please. Don't leave." I want to reach out to her again, and tell her it's alright, I'll never leave her, but I can't make that guarantee. I can't even move. All I can do is listen and ache and wish, with all my heart, that I could help. But now, all I know is that I don't even know if I can still control my future, if I can change anything. Moreover, if I could change it, I'm not even sure that I would._

_I just barely make this realization when everything fades completely into black and I slip away to other dreams._

I shoot up in my cot. Judging by the lighting, it is still in the middle of the evening, though I'm not the best judge seeing how this is a room without portholes in the middle of a submarine that's probably several kilometers under water. Shaking the cobwebs from my mind, I swing my legs out of bed, safe in the knowledge that I won't be getting back to sleep anytime this evening.

So I get ready for the day, going through the usual routine. I head up to the deck, making sure to steer clear of Nemo to avoid any comments on my less than proper actions yesterday. Then again, I never said I was proper, and Quatermain did have it coming. Either way, I don't want to think about it. I have bigger things to worry about for the moment, and my reactions to Quatermain's prejudices is hardly on the list of the top ten things that concern me. Two things were tied for precedence at the top of the list right now. One was my dream. The other was Skinner.

Where was he at? Why had he disappeared without a trace, just in time for suspicion to be cast on him? Surely he didn't do that on purpose- why would he? It just doesn't make sense to me. Why would the only person on this League who I am convinced is an ally just vanish into thin air? I know he isn't the traitor. As cheesy as it sounds, in my blood and bones, I can feel that he's innocent. The rumors can't possibly be true. I may not know Skinner well, but I know enough that I can say without a doubt that he would not be so low as to backstab someone like that. He doesn't seem like the kind of person to sneak around inconspicuously to me. If he wanted to gain intellect, then he could just wander around invisibly and steal it. It doesn't seem logical that he's the guilty one. Something here smells fishy, and I don't know what. But whatever it is, I'm determined to find out, somehow.

With that decision made, I file those thoughts away and stick them on a back burner in my mind, turning to another matter of equal interest- my dream. Why had I woken in a panic? The wandering of my mind was hardly anything of alarm. It was far less concerning to be in the mind of the girl in the coma than it was to witness arguments with my mother, and myself getting nearly killed in a car accident. So why exactly did I care?

Wait…I referred to myself as the girl in the coma. But when did she become just a girl? When did we cease to be the same person? I go back over the past few days, startled to find that it has been less than a week since I woke in the library. But even more startling is the fact that I don't know when the change happened, when I started to see myself as having a different life from the girl in the coma.

I shiver unwillingly, though I'm not sure why I find it so unsettling. So what? I feel disconnected to my real life, where I actually belong. No big deal. But is that even my real life? Or is it here?

I groan mentally. I'm really confused. I think past my reference to myself, to other topics-and I stop as I remember something else. My mother, telling me not to leave. Me wanting to tell her I never will but not being certain. Knowing I can't change anything.

Not knowing if I would.

Now I know why I was concerned. Not because I couldn't move. Not because I was listening to my mother crying. Not because I couldn't change the past.

Because I had to think about if I would.

The realization hits me like a bucket of ice water. Why did I ever have to even _consider_ that? What do I find so enthralling about this life that it made me consider living here instead of where I'm supposed to be? I can feel a knot in my stomach, and I swallow hard, shaking my head, then thinking about it.

I realize, after a time, that I am glad, in some way, to be a part of this venture. But just yesterday, wasn't I thinking of how wrong everything was, how great it would be to be just be at home again? I consider this, for a moment, trying to pinpoint the great change, what it is that possessed me to think in such a drastically different way. Why did I want to stay in a world filled with such mysteries, instead of going home and playing it safe?

Then it hits me- that's the exact reason I don't want to go. Somewhere along the way, I've decided that I'm tired of playing on the safe side, hanging out where I'll never be put in harms way. I got a taste of danger and decided I liked it, and now, I keep trying to figure out ways to survive in the peril. Some part of me relishes the idea of taking risks at the plausible cost of my own life, enjoys the sensation of feeling alert and alive, taking chances that have consequences beyond getting teased at school.

I'm not sure if I'm pleased or terrified by this revelation. All I know is that somewhere in my core, there is a tingle of deranged excitement that makes me panic in concern. But outside of my core, the rest of me ignores the panic, because for once, it would seem I'm learning how to live in real life, instead of just in a book.

Having noticed this, I smile grimly, staring out at the ocean again. Then I slip down below decks, swinging by the dining hall to grab a quick bite to eat, and then disappearing into the training room. If I'm going to be in harm's way, I have a lot of work to do.

I spend almost the entire day down in the room, practicing my knife throwing some more, along with the techniques that Skinner taught me about for punching. Several times I try to break my thumb by making my fist the wrong way, but eventually, I figure it out. Judging by my internal clock, I'd say it's probably nearing the evening, which means that we'll be upon Paris shortly. That's probably a good sign that I need to see about what the rest of the League is doing, as much as it pains me to do so. So I leave the room, taking care to hide Mina's knives again, and head towards where we've had our conferences in the past.

After a few wrong turns, I make it there and find that, as expected, everybody else is already gathered there, except for Skinner, obviously. Quatermain has a nice, faded mark on his face that looks vaguely like the outline of my hand. I guess I hit him harder than I thought. He glares at me viciously, and I look him calmly in the eye. He looks like he's about to say something when Sawyer clears his throat loudly and jerks his head towards Nemo none too subtly. I take the hint and pay attention to what the old Captain is talking about.

"It has been determined that the Fantom's most likely course of action is to attack the conference by sea, for those who may not know," he begins, looking at all of us in turn. "We will be upon Venice within the half hour, and we must come up with a plan to combat the threat with the smallest possible loss of life."

Mina nods sullenly. "Do we have an idea of where this bomb might be, besides near the conference?" she asks.

Quatermain shakes his head, replying in Nemo's place. "We've been able to narrow it down a bit, but we're not certain where he will attack. The area is still fairly large."

"We won't have hours to search," Dorian comments sharply. "It will do us no good to have a vague idea."

"We know," Quatermain sighs. "We're just not sure how to do so. There is no set place for where the conference will be, and if there is, we haven't been told."

"Well…" Sawyer says. "Where would it do the most damage? After all, from what you were telling me, M said the Fantom would attack the conference. But that doesn't mean he'd kill the leaders of Europe."

"That's all well and good, Sawyer," Dorian remarks dryly. "But the Fantom won't be stopping for tea either when violence is an option."

I tap lightly on Dorian's shoulder. _You're right, _I say. _But if he were to kill off the leaders, then who would lead the countries into war against themselves?_

Dorian brushes off my comment. "Countries do not need leaders to go into war," he disagrees. "They do that all by themselves."

_Oh, and you should know, being the all knowing immortal,_ I think, but decide not to write it down. Dorian would probably take it as a genuine compliment, being the arrogant fool that he is.

Nemo looks like he's about to respond to that statement when his first mate, the one he called Ishmael, comes in.

He takes Nemo aside for a moment and talks to him in a low tone before departing to go and do something else. Nemo turns back to face the rest of the League. "It would appear we have reached our destination," he says solemnly. The League nods and raises their heads. "We will start the search in the city center. That is where the worst damage could be done, most likely." Everybody nods agreement. There is an awkward silence, and then Quatermain speaks. "Very well," he says. "Where will we be getting off at to do our work?" he asks.

"Follow me," Nemo says, heading off. In a sort of organized chaos, the League follows him. I start to do the same, and then I notice Jekyll, trailing a barely noticeable distance behind the rest. He's been oddly silent, unnaturally sullen, even for him. I'm still angry that he blamed Skinner as a traitor, but something tells me I should talk to him anyways. He seems unfocused, and right now, that's not a good thing to be. Taking out my journal, I touch his arm lightly. He turns to look at me as we walk.

_Are you alright?_ I ask silently. Jekyll reads my note, and nods. "I'm fine," he says, but his voice disagrees.

_You don't seem fine,_ I respond. Jekyll smiles, a ghost of a smile. "I'm just concerned," he tells me. "That's all." I raise an eyebrow at him.

_What are you concerned about?_ I ask. _You don't think we'll fail, do you?_

Jekyll shakes his head. "No," he sighs. "I don't believe we'll fail, in a manner of speaking. But I don't know that we'll be entirely successful either, and I'm not sure how Hyde will be of use in this situation. He has a habit for being more of a hindrance than a helper."

_So…are you not going to use him?_ I ask, thinking silently that if he says yes, it will sort of defeat the purpose. But just as he opens his mouth to reply, the sound of a door creaking open drowns out his voice, and I can't hear what he says.

As we disembark the _Nautilus_, everyone is looking around curiously. Venice seems dark and almost dreary, but at the same time, it's anything but. I can hear the sounds of a festival in the distance, and I wrack my brain for ideas of what festival could possibly be in occurrence right now. It's on the tip of my tongue, but I can't think of it. Oh well. It's hardly relevant now. What's important is that there is a large gathering in the center of Venice, and a bomb somewhere in the vicinity. Not a good combination.

"Deploy the divers beneath the city," Nemo orders. "The explosives must be found."

_Boy, isn't that truth!_ I think sullenly.

"The city is vast," I hear Mina say. "It could be anywhere." I sigh mentally. Did someone always have to bring up how hopeless the situation was, how likely it was that we would fail?

"What about Skinner?" Sawyer asks suddenly. I narrow my eyes.

"I'd be alert for his treachery," Dorian comments. I'm about to write a cutting remark in my journal when there is a loud sound. I cringe away, as does most of the League, Mina shrieking quietly somehow, and I think in that moment, we are the closest to united we have ever been. In that second, we are all thinking the same thing- we're too late. But then the second passes and we all see the bright bursts of fireworks and hear the cheers of the crowd following.

"Bloody carnival," Quatermain mutters. For once, I agree with him. The stupid thing almost gave me a heart attack.

"God, I feared the worst," Mina murmurs. _So did all of us,_ I think.

Sawyer is quick to console her. "It's all right. We still have-" his words are cut short by a second boom. But this time, it is not the boom of fireworks exploding in the sky. This is earth rocking, and it's like the world is tipping over on its side. None of us are expecting it, and we all stumble. The blast knocks me to the ground, and I cringe as I fall hard, certain I'll have a heck of a bruise in the morning. But that's the least of my worries right now. Now I know that this was not the flash of fireworks. This was the real McCoy. The bombs have exploded. We are too late. And that knowledge hurts much more than anything physical.

I stand myself back up as the rest of the League regains their footing. One of Nemo's men looks through a spyglass and calls down to us in a panicked voice. "The buildings are falling like dominoes!" he yells.

"We're too late," Mina moans. _You think?_ I mutter in my mind. But there has to be something we can still do. And if it was just one bomb, then why are they still going off?

There's more than one bomb. Just as I make this realization, Quatermain voices it.

"The bombs are at the city's center. We must take out one key building!" Nemo says. I see what he's talking about. As the other League members make their own realizations, they all come to the same conclusion as I do. We have to disrupt the chain or the entirety of Venice is –quite literally- sunk.

"With a beacon at the coordinates, I could launch a rocket and take out the domino!" Nemo calls, offering his services. It's a good idea, but it leaves two questions. One-How are we going to get the coordinates for this? Two- how will we overtake the collapse?

"That's ridiculous! We'll never get there in time!"

"No room for error, but it could work," Nemo insists.

"What are you talking about?" Dorian bellows. "I'm an immortal, sir, not a gazelle! How can we outrun this?" he asks. It's a good question, and I'm really hoping someone has an answer, but doubting they do.

Well, today's my lucky day (sort of).

There's a loud revving noise, and then the car we drove to get Dorian shoots out of the _Nautilus_ like a bat out of hell, driven by none other than the resident American, Sawyer. He spins it in circles a few times before coming to a stop. "Care for a spin?" he asks.

Almost the entire League heads up to the car and starts to climb in. The only ones who don't are Nemo, Jekyll, and myself. There's only so much room, and I'd be useless in there, so I stay behind.

"Come on, Jekyll, get in!" Quatermain calls, beckoning for the tall doctor. But he doesn't move.

"I'll need coordinates!" Nemo cautions.

"Can you track this?" Quatermain asks.

"Of course," Nemo replies.

"Then this is the target. Launch when you see the flare!"

"Right," Nemo nods.

"Jekyll, come on. We'll need Hyde!" Quatermain bellows. Jekyll stiffens, as if steeling himself, then shakes his head. "No!" he calls. "Hyde will never use me again." His face is flushed, though if it's with worry or anxiety, I'm not entirely sure. I think we're all stunned by his announcement, but the only one who makes comment is –big shock- Dorian.

"Then what good are you?" he sneers, and then the car spins off, speeding into the night, leaving us behind. Jekyll stares after it, his face unreadable. But in his eyes, I can see the pain of the remark Dorian made. I may not be particularly fond of him at the moment, but I have to give him kudos for taking control of himself, and Dorian's comment was uncalled for. The immortal was obviously way too haughty and needed to be knocked down a notch or twenty.

But I couldn't do that for now, but I felt I had to do something. So I pull out my journal and scribble something into it, then tap on Jekyll and show him what I wrote.

_Ignore what he said. You are plenty good. You're the best doctor on the ship, and one of the best League members, with or without being extraordinary,_ I say. Jekyll smiles faintly.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "But I'm afraid you're the only one who thinks so."

I want to tell him that's nonsense, but he's probably right and I hate lying. _Maybe. But one person is better than none, isn't it? And those who don't think that you're a good person just don't have the ability to be open minded. Case and point, Dorian._ I write. Jekyll reads it again and I see a little life return to his eyes for a moment.

"I appreciate the thought," Jekyll says. He looks like he's about to say more when the Captain calls.

"There are injuries to tend to, Doctor," Nemo says. Jekyll nods. He still doesn't seem very happy, but right now, there are other things that must be worried about first.

Using my arm as support, I scribble something down.

_How can I help?_ I ask. Jekyll reads my note and nods. "If Nemo doesn't need you, I could use your assistance with getting supplies and handing me what I can use. Will that be all right?" he asks. I nod, and we hurry into the _Nautilus._

I follow Jekyll through the maze of the Nautilus, trying to ignore the sounds of the world shaking outside. Venice is crumbling, and I can only hope to high heaven that the rest of the League will succeed in their quest. Deep down though, I have a sinking suspicion that it may be too late to avert war. I hope I'm wrong.

Carrying as much as we can, Jekyll and I return outside to find some of Nemo's men mingled with citizens of Venice, lying injured in front of the _Nautilus. _I follow Jekyll along, giving him help where I can, passing him what materials I have and going back and forth for even more supplies. It's not much, but it's not like there's anything else I can do.

As I come out for what feels like the umpteenth dozen time, I hear another strange sound, and look up to see a green flare. "Launch!" Nemo yells. Less than a minute later, there's a final, thundering boom and then the world stops its constant shuddering.

_They did it!_ I think. I grin wildly before handing supplies to Jekyll to head into the ship again. But as I'm searching in the _Nautilus_, I hear a sharp noise to my right that makes me jump. On a whim, I decide to follow it, curious of what made the sound. I'm certain Jekyll has enough stuff to keep himself supplied for a time, so I should still have a chance to investigate and restock.

I listen closely, following the footsteps. I lose the trail for a moment, and am about to leave when I hear low voices murmuring. For a second, I think I'm hearing things, because one sounds like Dorian, but there is no way he could be back by now. Even if he was, what happened to everybody else? I'm about to dismiss it all as a figment of my imagination, when I hear the sound of something that I definitely didn't imagine.

A gun firing repeatedly.

I jump, then quickly duck behind a corner. _What the heck?_ I think. I don't know who just got shot or who was doing the shooting, but I'm certain that something is wrong. I can't decide if I should run for help or go and help myself. There's no guarantee I'll be able to get back here again, but how much can I really do? I shake my head. What am I thinking? I have to do something. I don't have time to run outside, find someone, and come back, hoping to find the victim. By that time, they'll probably be dead.

_This is a bad idea,_ I think, but I'm already heading towards where I heard the shots. My instincts are on high alert, and at every noise, I duck into the nearest available cover. Most of the time, it's nothing, and I steadily progress, taking what I hope is the right path. Then I hear footsteps.

Quickly, I duck into a doorway and hide behind a pile of boxes, peering out from behind my perch. I'm shocked to see Dorian, who evidently is back, as he ducks into the room and fiddles with something in the corner. I stand deathly still, hardly daring to breathe for fear of being noticed. As he turns, I can see him whistling as he twirls a gun around casually.

It is only when I see the gun that I make the connection. Dorian is the only League member back. He has a gun. I heard gunshots. He's one of the ones who slammed Skinner at every corner, and he's the one who didn't want to come in the first place. After he did come, he remained consistently aloof. It's only now that I understand why.

Dorian is the traitor.

The realization fills me with rage. That coward had allowed Skinner to be blamed and supported the theory, maybe even killed somebody. Maybe he'd even killed Skinner, and that's why no one could find him. It's a crazy idea, but a dark part of me wouldn't put it past Dorian. I want to lunge out from my corner and attack the conspirator, but the tiny sliver of sanity that I still possess chooses this moment to come forth. _Don't even bother,_ it says. _He has a gun. He obviously isn't against using it. You'll be no use dead. _

The voice has a good point, so I just clench my hands into fists and stew as Dorian leaves the room to do heaven only knows what. I wait until I'm certain that he's gone, then hurry on my quest, with even more urgency than before. Thankfully, I'm closer than I thought I was, and I reach my destination in about two minutes, and I discover Dorian's victim.

Poor Ishmael. He's leaning against one of the pipes with an ashen face. I rush over to him and put out my hands to help as he nearly falls down again. The first mate looks wearily at me. "What're you doin' here?" he asks, gasping. I shake my head, putting a finger to my lips, then write on one of the pipes. _Lean on me,_ I say, heading to his side. Ishmael nods, and shifts some of his weight uncertainly to me. I look at him questioningly, and he nods a second time. Together, we hobble out of the engine room. I trust him, of all people, to know where he's going, because there's a fair chance that right now, I wouldn't be able to find my way back to the door.

As we near the entrance, I can hear low voices outside, and I tune into them cautiously, trying to figure out if the League is reassembled. "Where are the others?" I can hear Quatermain asking, and even though I'm far from being a fan of the tactless fool, I find myself relieved that he, at the very least, isn't dead.

"Dorian's missing in action," Mina says, and I almost laugh. _No he isn't, _I think grimly. "And Mr. Skinner must have fled when he realized we knew." If only they knew just how wrong they were.

"And Sawyer?" Quatermain asks, the barest hint of emotion in his voice. I'm concerned for a moment- after all, almost the entire League did leave together. I can think of no valid excuse for why they'd be separated, but I suppose it's possible that one thing about tonight isn't necessarily a bad sign. It is nice, however, to know that Quatermain isn't an emotionless rock, despite previous evidence.

The lack of response to his inquiry is concerning for a moment. Then a voice appears from nowhere. "He'll live to fight another day." _Well, Sawyer's alright,_ I think. I can hear Mina murmuring quietly about throats, and am caught somewhere between a chuckle and a question. I'm almost curious on how she'll react to Ishmael. Then we stumble out onto the walkway, Ishmael leaning heavily on the railing and nodding to me.

"Captain," he cries hoarsely. Nemo turns suddenly and his eyes widen, taking in the sight as he rushes over to Ishmael's side, followed by a fair amount of the others and Jekyll.

"It was Gray," Ishmael gasps, staring deep into the Captain's eyes. "Not Skinner. Gray's tricked us all." It looks like one of the other League members is about to ask him to clarify, but within a second, there's no point in asking. Ishmael gasps out a last stuttering breath, and dies.

The Captain lowers him down slowly, and I look at his eyes. But in them, I see such a deep sorrow that it physically hurts, and I have to look away. There is a moment of dead silence, and I feel guilty relief for my inability to talk. Even if I could speak, much like the rest of the League, I wouldn't know what to say. Maybe there's nothing to be said.

Then, from somewhere deep in the _Nautilus,_ I hear a mechanical whirring sound, like the grinding of gears. From the side of the ship, an orb looks to be protruding. Nemo stiffens, standing and turning angrily. The sorrow in his eyes appears to have been transformed into pure outrage.

"What is it?" one of the League asks.

"The sound of treachery!" Nemo responds dramatically.

"What is that thing?"

"My exploration pod," Nemo says.

A panel slides away from a window. Through the glass pane on the pod, I can see Dorian, a gloating, smug smile on his face as he blows a condescending kiss towards all of us, Mina especially. Then the paneling closes and the pod drops into the water, propellers starting to churn the water and make it go forward.

"We could track it," Quatermain suggests as we watch the pod spin away.

"I intend to catch it!" Nemo bellows, turning sharply to go into the boat. I dodge out of the way as everyone follows, then turn back to look at Mina, waiting. She looks like a dark enchantress, a building storm as she glares after the pod, her hair blowing violently around her face. In that single moment, I realize just how angry Mina is, and I know that were I Dorian, I'd be hoping to any deity that could hear me that she never caught up.

After a few seconds that seem to last a life time, Mina turns to head back into the boat after the others, and I follow her quietly. We say nothing as we head after the others. Finally, I write in the air. _Sorry,_ I say. It's not much, but I think Mina knows what I mean. I'm sorry for Dorian betraying her again for what I guessed wasn't the first time. She shakes her head, obviously not wanting to talk about it. I expected that, but I felt like I had to say _something._ I guess I'm just the mute who wants to talk.

As we head into the room, I head to stand over near the remaining members of the League, still curious as to where Skinner went. "That is us," Nemo says, pointing. "That is the Nautiloid. We will be upon them soon." In his voice, I can hear an almost angry eagerness. The sooner we catch up, the sooner Dorian can be dealt with. We can't kill him, but we can certainly find some way to make his life hell on earth. I look forward to it.

Sawyer talks quietly to Mina, and I wander aimlessly around for a moment. Nothing really to do right now. The only thing we have to worry about is catching Dorian and there really is precisely squat I can do to help with that. Then a high pitched noise starts going off, and I cringe, jamming my hands over my ears. _What the heck?_ I think. _What's going on _now_?_ "Nemo?" Quatermain asks. The captain shakes his head.

"It's nothing of mine," Nemo says, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Captain," one of the sailors calls, heading up. "The noise came from this." Seeing the man, I wonder for a single, morbid moment who will replace Ishmael as first mate. Honestly, I don't want to think of it. I don't think Nemo wants to either.

"A recording disk?" he murmurs, removing the object in question and placing it on a record player that I just now noticed the existence of. We all listen in confusion as a recording starts playing.

"Ready, professor?" a prim voice asks. "Recording."

I listen closely as a voice begins to talk. I recognize it as M, of all people. _What is this ?_ I wonder. Did he make some kind of a congratulating video, expecting success? He's a little confused, because we've done many things, but I doubt "succeeding" really qualifies as one of them.

"Gentlemen, if you're hearing this, then every step leading up to it has gone as planned," M begins. I'm curious as to what exactly he's meaning. I don't think everything has really "gone as planned." Unless he's talking about something else. "And I have been true to the goals set to me."

Then a new voice cuts into the sound. "Yes, it's me, Dorian. As you know by now, I'm no loyal son of the Empire." _Understatement of the century,_ I think. "My Loyalty to Mr. M comes in no small part from his possession of something I hold very dear to my heart, something I would do anything to regain." As he says this, I look at Mina, unable to help thinking that she, being the only one relatively close to the immortal, might have some idea of what it was that was so important to him. Judging by her expression, I might be right.

Then another realization hits me. Dorian is a traitor. He's loyal to M. Then that would mean…M was our enemy all along. If I have made this conclusion, it would be stunning to me if no one else had, but the rest of the League seems to be missing my eureka moment. It occurs to me that this may be old news to everyone else, a discovery made while I was in the ship with Ishmael. Evidently, I missed the memo. Right now, I'm missing something else, so I shake my head to clear the fog, and tune back into the recording.

"Everything so far has been misdirection," M continues. "Sanderson Reed…The assassins in Kenya…your recruitment and mission, the secret conference, a myth. Even the League itself. There is no League. There never was." Listening to M blather on, it occurs to me that he may be right, at least on that point. The League was assembled, yes, but we weren't really a League. We still aren't. We're more of a group of people slammed together by circumstance, not a team. Skinner described it best. We're a gathering of misfits. It would seem to be the only thing M is correct about. "It was a ruse, to get me closer to my goals," M says.

"He likes the sound of his own voice," Sawyer mutters. _Aye,_ I think.

"You see, I want you, each of you, even tired old Quatermain, because he'll capture Hyde where all others have failed. The question is why. Why all this mask and mystery? Because in the war to come, I intend to wield the greatest weapon of all: the power of the League itself." I'm certain that it's some foreboding point that M is trying to make, but for the life of me, the only thing I can think is _didn't he just say the League doesn't exist?_ Jekyll looks like he's in pain.

"To that end, I set my wolf among you sheep," M says. "Growl," Dorian says, cutting into the recording again, and I roll my eyes. What an idiot.

M continues onward. "…to gain your trust, quietly lead you astray." I have to bite back a laugh, despite the serious air right now. Dorian did many things, but gaining our trust…that wasn't one of them. He did, however, manage to tick off Mina, Nemo, and pretty much the entirety of the League. If that was his goal...well, at least he did something right.

"All the while, I'll collect you, the parts of you I need. Nemo's science," Dorian says. Mina gasps, looking at her hands suddenly, as if something is there. "Magnesium phosphorus…" Mina gasps.

"Skinner's skin sample," M continues. _Huh?_ I think. When did he get _that?_ I wrack my brains but come up with nothing. It's kind of a moot point anyways...Dorian got the sample, and that's what matters. It's useless to wonder about when.

"Jekyll's potion." I have a sudden urge to curse out Dorian. _You bastard,_ I think. The hatred I feel for him only grows as I think of what he did to poor Skinner, letting him get blamed. I wish that I could reach through the recording to wherever he was at and wring his immortal neck.

"And Mina's blood." Mina looks repulsed. Actually, everybody does. Finally, Jekyll says what we've all been thinking. "He's stolen us," he says. "And we let him."

"If you fail to save Venice," M continues, unknowing of our disgusted reactions, or perhaps expecting them and not caring, "then I get my war. And if you succeed…well, it's a small price to pay for Gray to go about his task. War will come, sooner or later, as inevitable as summer into autumn. Now, some of you, perhaps Quatermain if he isn't dead, will pause to ask why I'm letting you know all this." I have to bite back a laugh. M seems to underestimate just how resilient Quatermain is. How resilient we all are.

"What fool reveals his stratagem before the game is over?" M asks. _Evidently you,_ I think. "It is over, for you. Because my voice isn't the only sound being made. While I've rambled on, a secondary layer of inaudible sound, higher than humans can hear, audible to dogs and lower animals, has been heard by crystal sensors dotted about your vessel," he says. It is only now that I notice the rattling glass. I can only listen in horrified shock as I start to piece the puzzle together in my mind.

What would Dorian have been fiddling with earlier after shooting Ishmael? Why would he have killed anyone when he could have slipped away undetected? What had he been setting up? I feel like smacking myself for not investigating. I think hard for a moment, and my jaw drops in shock. The only things that he could have been tinkering with were…

Bombs.

"Bomb voyage," Dorian says. Nemo's eyes widen, and he sweeps the record player off the table suddenly, shattering it on the ground. But it's too late to turn back the clock. Far too late. There's nothing we can do to stop it now. That's the last thought I can get out before, as it had earlier, the world rocks with explosions as bombs tear holes into the Nautilus.

**Okay, considering where I left this chapter off, I will give it every possible effort I can to make sure this is not another two month wait. I hope you did like it though, and please, read and review! Hope to post another chapter soon, apologies, and thanks again. Bis dann, Auf Wiedersehen, Bookworm**


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